


Riptide

by sergeant_angel



Series: All Roads Lead to Rome [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: F/M, FUCK YOU THADDEUS ROSS, Gen, Kate Bishop is not the Young Avenger's Clint she's their Cap, M/M, MCU with way more Young Avengers, Multi, Some torture?, all of the young avengers. all of them., canon character death, canon character resurrection, character name dropping, david/kate brotp, david/kate is still the ride-or-die brotp of all brotps, jonas my sweet robo child, mcu/young avengers crossover, no love for jack rollins here, oh look it's the hell's kitchen gang!, poc!kate bishop, proofread idk her, tommy shepherd collects mother figures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 147,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was once and idea to bring together a group of extraordinary people," is a misleading phrase. it implies the Avengers are the first, or the only. But before the Avengers, there was a group of extraordinary young people who became something more. Who would work together to fight the battles we never could.</p><p>They also asked too many questions and were disbanded before their time.<br/>Once upon a time, Kate Bishop led this team into battle and cleanup and briefings. Figuring out who she is apart from her team is harder than she thought--mostly because none of them can stop trying to save the world.<br/>Figuring out where she fits in a world with the Avengers? That's nothing like she thought it would be.</p><p>(or, MCU canon reimagined with the Young Avengers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Radioactive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They honestly never thought Loki was this stupid. It's a little disconcerting, truth be told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. After like, a year of dragging my feet, I've finally started the major rework of this story. You have before you the reworked Chapter One. Enjoy!

There are certain points in life that you can look at, that you can pull out and show to people, and say, "this is where my life changed. This is where it all began."

Everybody has a few of those moments.

Sometimes those moments aren't obvious when they're happening. They happen in a gesture, in a look. In a choice to turn left.

Some of those moments are obvious.

Some moments happen when someone you once knew decides to play conquistador.

Sometimes, they happen when the sky rips open and dumps a bunch of aliens on your doorstep, led by someone who should know better.

Apples and oranges, really.

* * *

Kate paces. Ten feet from her couch to her fridge, six from the couch to her door, back and forth as the hours wear on.

Nobody at SHIELD is returning their calls. A SHIELD facility is destroyed and apparently Loki is off somewhere raising hell.

Considering the team had been told last week that Loki had plummeted to his death off of the Rainbow Bridge, Kate is more than a little incredulous.

Incredulous, and other things. Things like angry, and irritated. Loki is their problem. Her problem. They should be there, dealing with this, not Tony Stark and some dude playing Captain America dress-up.

Kate stares hard at the footage being played and replayed by the news. It would be too weird if he was _actually_ Steve Rogers, right? That's not logical.

Though it would explain why Thirteen bailed early on lunch while giving her best Jurassic Park impression. _Hold on to your butts_ , she'd said, throwing down a wad of cash. _Life will find a way_.

Thirteen had thrown a five and two ones on the table, not nearly enough to cover her food. She, too, is ignoring Kate's texts.

Ten feet, fridge to couch. Six feet, couch to door.

Too weird. Too weird by half.

* * *

It's definitely above Kate's paygrade to question the Director of SHIELD, but seriously, Fury, what the hell?

If his hobby is throwing together teams of superpowered and highly skilled fighters together to see what happens, he needs to get a new hobby. Preferably one that is less ridiculous and involves less large-scale destruction.

At the very least, he needs to introduce some variety into the group. They've got a spangly soldier-type, a brainiac, a demi-god with great hair--

Maybe this is Fury's version of creating different playlists with the same twenty songs, just in a different order. The same ingredients, just in slightly different quantities. Like the difference between a pizza and a calzone. Or lasagne and spaghetti. Or The Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC.

Kate stands up and starts pacing again. She does better when she moves, her thoughts get tangled less. Ten feet, fridge to couch. Six feet, couch to door.

Ten feet. Six feet. Step over three sets of feet.

Kate is pretty tired of sitting around, waiting for someone to call and tell them what to do. There's still no word from Coulson, no word yet from Natasha or Clint, not Hill or even May.

Kate isn't digging her fingernails into her palms, worried because Clint always gets himself into dumbass situations and she's not thinking about the time he tried to go undercover back at the circus and wound up having to fake his own death and the fact that she's already been to his funeral--

She's not thinking about those things, okay?

She and her team have been ready to move out for the past thirty-six hours, glued to her crappy tv, so it's a little jarring when they see this team that's like them in so many ways. Like a weird funhouse version of her team, like them from another dimension, filling Kate with an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu—they aren't the ones down there, but maybe they are? Maybe it's just a different them?

She's about to call America—just to make sure about the alternate dimension thing, you never know--when Kate spots Natasha.

And then--

"Wait a minute," Kate says to nobody in particular. "Is that _Bruce Banner_?"

"Holy shit. Doesn’t he know what Ross wants to do to him?" Tommy stares unblinking at the screen as he says this, prompting about half of the group to give a collective shudder.

Kate moves next to Eli and presses her shoulder against his.

They don't know what Ross wants to do to Banner, but they _are_ all pretty smart, so they have a pretty solid idea of what Ross wants to do to Banner.

Except for Eli, who has firsthand experience.

He leans into her, eyes fixed firmly on the tv. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he stretches two fingers out to tap against the crook of her arm _I'm fine_.

“What’s that movie where the real superheroes do all the work and the pretty ones get the credit?” Tommy asks the team, trying to crack the uncomfortable silence that's filled Kate's apartment at the mention of Ross.

“ _Mystery Men_ ,” Billy responds when it becomes apparent nobody else is going to say anything, all of them trying not to stare at Eli.

“It’s not  _Mystery Men_ ,” Kate replies ten seconds too late, distracted by the scroll at the bottom of the screen keeping track of deaths attributed to Loki, which she's watching for the fiftieth time. She's not _pretending_ not to pay attention to Eli, she actually isn't, she's a lot better at this than the rest of them--

“I can’t believe Coulson told us to stand down?” Teddy half-asks for the tenth time, trying to break the tension with different tension.

“I know,” Kate says, for the thirtieth time, swallowing down her exasperation. Her apartment is small and the walls are thin. If she'd been contacted by someone, they would all know. And even if she had a huge apartment, she's fairly certain that Tommy would pickpocket her and check her phone and David would probably get some alert on _his phone_ since he's got that thing that he does where he keeps excessive tabs on all of them. That he thinks Kate doesn't know about, which is cute.

“I told you, I had him give his security code five times,” Kate reminds Teddy. Well, she reminds _all_ of them, but everyone else is pretending not to listen.

“I can’t believe this,” David says from her kitchen, an occurrence that is worrying enough on a good day. This is not a good day. Kate has the very real fear that her microwave is going to wind up exploding because David likes to tinker when he gets nervous. Tinker or hack. Kate's not sure which one would be more beneficial right now.

“It’s bullshit,” Eli agrees.

“Total bullshit,” Tommy flops down on her sofa for three seconds before popping back up. "Who are these guys, anyway?"

Kate says nothing.

She agrees, though, of course she agrees. They  _know_ Loki. Loki knows them. Pulling them in would—well, it would defeat the point of them being a  _secret team_  but Loki is attempting to take over the world. You'd think it would make sense to bring in people who know him, know how he fights.

Kates phone buzzes and she doesn’t even bother to look at who it is before accepting the call, prepping to tell the boys to suit up—

“Hawkeye.” It’s Natasha. That’s not comforting.

“Widow.”

“I need you to listen and not speak. Loki has compromised Hawkeye. We’re about to bring Loki in, but we don’t know where Clint is. I’m breaking about twenty protocols right now, but you need to know in case he comes for you. In case Loki needs you.”

“What the hell would he need us for?”

“I don’t know! You’re the Asgardian experts. Figure it out!”

Kate only has time to make and offended sort of _guh_ noise before Natasha ends the call. “Love you miss you stay safe,” Kate mutters to nobody.

Around her, the boys are still arguing, making snide remarks about the footage from Stuttgart. They have the director's cut of it, since David has generously given them access to some of Germany's security cameras. Illegal? Probably.

“I think that  _is_  Captain America. The Steve Rogers version,” Eli looks up from his computer. “Looks just like him, anyway.”

“And that’s definitely Iron Man,” Teddy adds.

“Wait, did you just say we weren’t pretty?” Eli glares at Tommy.

“Loki,” she mutters to herself. “What the hell are you up to?”

She doesn’t get a chance to answer her own question because she gets a fistful of popcorn thrown at the side of her head.

"I was aiming for Eli!" Tommy protests.

The afternoon just devolves from there.

* * *

They aren’t the pretty team, is the thing.

Physically, sure, they’re attractive.

It’s—

They’re not pretty. Not the pretty you stick in front of a camera. Tommy, a felon. David, a SHIELD agent-cough-hacker-cough. Eli, substance abuse. Cassie, heart problems, (reformed) thief. Billy, magic, and therefore inexplicable. Teddy, alien. Her, socialite, daughter of a money launderer and with no special skills—at least not in the way the others have.

They could have been pretty, once. Could have been scrubbed clean, bright and shiny and aspirational.

That won’t happen now.

It wasn’t going to happen, not for a while. Not since Ross. Not since Latveria, and Baker’s Glen, and all the crap that went down with Yelena—

It would take too much effort, too much manpower, to redact, classify, and otherwise make them suitable for general consumption, as Sitwell is fond of saying on the odd occasion the subject comes up. Better to keep to the shadows. Easier to work when nobody knows to look for you. They're ghosts. Shadows. Most of SHIELD is like this. You don't know who other field agents are unless you work with them, and the people that coordinate those team-ups have the highest security clearance in SHIELD a person can have without being the director.

 It's a safety thing for the agency itself and the people that work in it; it's also a great way for most of the organization to not know what's going on. Makes it easy to hide things, like an entire superpowered team. Makes it easy to get rid of information, if you know who has it.

Hawkeye thinks like this, because she has to. SHIELD has made it more that clear that her team, _their_ team, is not a priority. The screwup in Latveria tipped her off, the one that David saved them from. And then the one in Madripoor. She thinks like this because she has to be ready to protect her team when their end comes.

The dawn of the Avenger program, fully fledged, would seem to be the final nail in their coffin.

Though Loki, who is currently attempting mass murder and global domination, might pave the way for their big society debut. Maybe that was his big plan. Why else take Clint?

Unless Clint had been the highest-ranking agent around.

It’s just that there’s a very specific list of people whose attention you’d get by stealing Clint. Kate is on that list, top three.

Assuming Loki’s even thinking that way, assuming he’s _their_ Loki, and not one of his other batshit crazy iterations.

It doesn’t matter. Orders is orders is orders. They’re not supposed to go anywhere.

 

Which is why it’s really fortunate the battle comes to them.

Kate hopes an alien battalion marching down her street is an adequate excuse for disobeying a direct order.

* * *

Kate spots a red white and blue blur, surrounded by hostile aliens. It’s not Patriot, which means it’s the _other_ flag-encrusted walking danger zone. He seems to have the aliens in front of him handled, but the ones behind him are, to Kate’s eye, completely unobserved.

“Wiccan,” Kate calls. “Give me a soft landing?”

He gives her a curt nod and Kate steps off of the edge of the glowing platform of light Billy is projecting.

The first three seconds are fine; Kate manages to take down two of the aliens in one shot—after that, the landing doesn’t resemble anything near smooth, because one of the Chitauri launches itself at her while she’s in midair—still shooting—and wrests her from Billy’s power, sending her skidding down the road.

She keeps shooting even as she fends off the alien that attacked her; she’s getting ready to do more than kick when a round shield buries itself into the thing’s neck.

“Hawkeye?” Steve Rogers, or a guy who looks a lot like Steve Rogers, turns towards her, frowning when he catches sight of her. “Not Hawkeye—“

“Do you think just because you’re Steve Rogers someone is automatically watching your six?” She crouches to pull one of her arrows out of the Chitauri, waving it menacingly at the man. "They aren't. That's not how that works."

“Actually I a—“

“It was a rhetorical question.” Kate levers herself into a standing position, grabbing on to Steve’s shield and pulling herself upright as he stares at her. “I think that asshat gave me road rash. You didn’t think knocking me out of the air was excessive, bro?” Kate asks the being that did the knocking. It’s apparently dead, and doesn’t answer her.

Hulkling lands next to her with a thump, pulling his wings tight to his back. “Oh my God,” he strides over to Rogers, hand outstretched. “Captain America, it’s such an honor—an amazing honor to meet you.”

“Sure, son,” he responds, looking from Kate to Hulkling. Kate gives Rogers a point because he does shake Teddy’s hand, looking more curious than startled at the wings and the green.

To the west, there comes a hollow boom and a shower of dust.

“Stature, I see an awful lot of pulverized concrete over by you—“

“ _Working on it_ ,” Cassie grits out. Kate can see threads of blue magic weaving through the dust, a flash of an impossibly large amount of blonde hair, as Cassie braces against the building to try and keep it upright.

Out of the corner of her eye Kate sees one of the giant slug-whale-space monsters thrash through the air. “Stature—“ she begins, only to be cut off by Eli.

“Stature, you’re gonna have to let it go, you’ve got one of those things heading to you now, you need to catch it—“

Kate can hear Stature’s inhale as she gets ready to fight him on this, but never gets the chance—it’s instinct to throw her arms up to catch it because it’s headed right for her face. Concrete and brick rumble behind Stature, the structure crumbling behind her as she wrestles with the space-slug.

"We don't have anything powerful enough to take these monsters out," Patriot informs them. "We need to--"

Kate misses what it is they need to do, because a battalion of Chitauri come screaming around the corner.

* * *

“Who the hell _are_ you?” Rogers asks when the immediate danger has passed. He's staring at her like she’s the most unbelievable thing he’s ever seen, which would be understandable if they weren't surrounded by alien invaders. All she's got is some blood dripping down her face and a sword in her hand, she's the least exciting thing here.

“Duck!” is her response as she drops the sword and swings her bow off of her shoulders. Thankfully he does duck, and an approaching alien trio gets shot in their eyes. “Prodigy, can you hack us into their comms?”

Steve Rogers—if he _is_ Steve Rogers, she’s still not entirely convinced of this point—is staring at her, eyes moving from her bow to her face and back to her bow.

“ _Hack?”_ Prodigy manages to sound disgusted. “It’s not a  _hack,_ Hawkeye, that implies effort. It's more like I'll just open the door—and—we have convoy.”

“What does that even mean,  _we have convoy_?” Tommy asks.

“What the hell?” Tony Stark half-shrieks. “Who is that—JARVIS! Systems intrusion!”

“Clear comms!” Kate barks. “We’re here to help—"

“Hawkeye!” Clint chirps. “Hey!”

“Hey Hawkeye!” she matches his tone. “Any place particular we should head? I’m Hawkeye, by the way,” she extends her hand to Steve. “Nice to meet you.”

“Captain—Captain America,” he stares at her, offering his hand on what appears to be reflex.

“Ha! Right, don’t be surprised if nobody on my team willingly calls you that. A dubious pleasure to meet you, regardless,” she barks a laugh, ignoring his hand in favor of fitting an arrow to her bowstring.

“What—never mind. You seem like a decent shot. You’re with me, if you think you can keep up,” he cocks his head, a challenge in the gesture.

"A _decent_ shot?" Hawkeye splutters. Kate can imagine his indignant expression perfectly. " _Decent_?"

Kate stares at Rogers, the smirk that he’s trying to cover. Challenge accepted. “Works for me. Hawkeye?”

Clint manages to compose himself to answer her. “Tasha could probably use a hand? She’s going after Loki.”

There is an uncharacteristic silence from her team.

“Let me go,” Cassie says.

“Stature, we’ve got a building going down three blocks from you!” Patriot’s voice strains and there’s the unmistakable sound of him getting socked in the gut.

“Handle it, Stature,” Kate makes the decision. “Wiccan. You’re with the Widow. You figure out where Loki is and you  _keep him there_.”

“Got it.”

“Patriot, make sure Hawkeye doesn’t get himself killed—"

“Excuse  _you_ Hawkeye! Oh, Thor and Hulkling might be a good team up. Prodigy, please don’t hack Stark’s suit.”

“Too late!”

“Is this your idea of cooperation?” Clint mutters, as if muttering will make the rest of the people on comms unable to hear him. 

"Coordination, not cooperation," Kate corrects, and she's fairly certain that if she could see Captain Steve's eyebrows, they'd be raised. "There's a difference."

“Wow," a voice cuts in. "The Hulk is  _pissed_. Damn—"

“Focus up, Prodigy,” Kate interrupts. “We need  _your_  brain, not everyone else’s. Take your cues from Clint—we’ve got a lot of panicked civilians. Figure out where they are and where they need to be. Speed, you follow him. Your job is to minimize civilian casualties, got it?”

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Tommy pauses long enough to snap her a salute and toss Captain America a glare before bolting down the road. 

Captain America looks at her curiously.

"Don't ask," she shakes her head. 

"You really think two men can do all that?"

“My people are  _very_ good,” she grins. She raises her bow and Steve shifts just enough to not risk the arrow himself, glancing over his shoulder at the twitching alien she's just shot.

“If they’re anything like you, I imagine they are.”

* * *

It goes like this: the boys crash her sister’s wedding, ostensibly to save them, and it reads like an obscure anti-joke: the grandson of a supersoldier, a shapechanger, and a magician walk into a church.

They hadn’t known that Eli was juicing, or that Teddy is an alien prince; their reality is so much  _weirder_ than they’d thought, and even back then they’d thought their lives were pretty weird.

Or maybe it goes like this: five kids, New Yorkers all, are there when the world collapses. Kate doesn’t think there is a specific moment she can pinpoint where she _knew_  she had to protect people, but that September—that was when is started. Stuff like that changes you.

Maybe it’s more that this was the event that primed them to become what they are now. Ready, waiting for the final piece, the match, the spark, whatever.

For Kate, the catalyst was the park, a few years later. Being helpless, and never wanting to be that again. It's like having a hot coal, a low, constant burn, that  _nobody should ever feel like this_.

She wonders, sometimes, if they’d never found each other, would they have known something was missing, would they have kept looking, drawn, somehow, to each other?

And then, maybe a year into being a team, SHIELD contacts them, deciding to saddle each of them with babysitters to make sure they don’t kill themselves on accident.

 _Oversight_ , Director Fury had said.

 _You're idiots,_ Clint had said.

 _We want to keep tabs on how a team of extraordinary individuals works together_ , Phil had said.

SHIELD says a lot of things. What SHIELD does is…slightly different.

* * *

Steve Rogers appears to have reached his _Done as Hell_ threshold about five years ago.

He kicks an alien explosive device back at the aliens who made the poor choice of throwing it at him when Kate has a realization that pulls her up short, and almost results in her losing a limb to an alien.

Assuming he's the reason Martinelli had to cancel lunch with her, assuming the reason he hasn't been in public before now is because he'd still been MIA as of a week ago--

Assuming a _lot_ of things, it's entirely possible he woke up from a Rip van Winkle nap, like, this week.

"So," she says, once her leg is no longer in danger of being forcibly removed from her body, "has this week lasted seventy years for you, or what?"

Rogers simply stares at her before saying, "I can neither confirm nor deny." The corner of his mouth twitches as he says it, like he's trying to hold back a grin or a grimace.

"You know, if they kept you longer than a week I think that's probably a human rights violation." Rogers stares at her with wide blue doe-eyes. "You know what that is, right?"

"I'm from the 1940s, not the 1340s," he snaps, his gaze sharpening into a glare. "I fought in the War. We _invented_ human rights."

"John Locke, the Magna Carta, and the Statute of Kalisz beg to differ."

This time, it _is_ a smile he's fighting. "Fair enough." He looks at her like he's sizing her up, nodding to himself when he figures it out. He extends his hand and Kate takes it this time, giving it a firm shake. "I'm Steve Rogers."

"Hawkeye."

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to expound or clarify, which she doesn't.

"So, does this happen a lot in the future? Alien invasions?"

"They aren't usually this obvious."

"Flying cars?"

"Nope."

"Ah. Thought maybe they were just hiding them from me." Steve Rogers quirks his lips in a half-smile that Kate half-returns.

"Hey, if you two are done bantering, do you think you could get back to the alien invasion?" David gripes in her ear. "I mean. Seriously."

Kate rolls her eyes at Rogers, swinging her bow across her chest in favor of picking up one of the aliens’ weapons.

"It's called multitasking, Prodigy," Kate informs him, hefting the staff and slicing across the neck of an oncoming alien. "I thought you'd be into that."

Steve Rogers is staring, his eyes moving from her to the alien at her feet.

"What?"

"Are you rationed?" He asks, disbelief coloring his voice. For some reason, he starts to turn red.

"Again I say, what?"

"Ah, nothing. You're just. You're a lulu, is all."

David is laughing in Kate's ear, which is not professional.

"Okay, Rogers, we're going to have to table the vocabulary lesson for later, and you can tell me all your fun forties lingo and I'll tell you about all the fun rights women and minorities have but until then, let's focus on getting all of these damn dirty aliens off our planet. That was a great joke, you'll really appreciate it when you start watching movies."

He’s staring at her like he’s about to say something profound when one of the giant space-slugs slams into the road, sending the pavement up in a wave that throws Kate into the air, dropping her back down a good twenty-five feet away. She’s not sure what part of her she landed on; she can’t breathe or think or move because her entire body is screaming _THIS! FUCKING! HURTS!_

She’s just managed to corral some air into her lungs when it’s knocked right back out, this time by something landing on her, instead of her landing on something.

She can hear someone speaking in an angry tone—it's hard to hear because her ears are buzzing. It takes her a few moments to realize that the person talking is her, and the things she’s saying are simply a litany of curse words, and that the item on top of her is a person who weighs an _awful fucking lot_ and that it’s Steve Rogers.

“Get off, get off, get off,” she shoves at him, unable to think past the panic for a moment. Rogers stares at her, uncomprehendingly, as she pushes at him.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"You're heavy as shit," Kate replies—only it's not exactly a reply, and Rogers knows that, a frown crossing his face as he opens his mouth to argue the point with her, something Kate is rescued from doing thanks to more flying debris.

It stops being debris and starts being lampposts and cars when a second beast lands near the first. Kate sees the cab coming at them from behind Rogers; she grabs the back of his uniform and drags him down, instinct curling her over his head and neck. Her mind flashes to the explosion at Baker's Glen, curling around Cassie like this as Stature's suit malfunctioned.

"Uh, Hawkeye? Whatcha doin'?"

"Protecting your spine, idiot," the response is out of her in a flash, harsher than she would have preferred. Things continue to crash around them as Kate tucks herself closer to Rogers, covering his head and back until it stops. Metal screeches as it settles and there is the faint but deep clatter as bits of sidewalk and building roll down larger piles of building and sidewalk. She waits one second, two seconds, until she's certain nothing else is flying their way before righting herself, pulling her face from Rogers' shoulders and grimacing as rubble rolls off her back. She's bruising for sure, maybe cracked a rib.

Rogers presses a hand to her face, and his glove comes back coated with blood. He frowns at her, opens his mouth to says something, when his eyes snap to something behind her.

Kate feels like she’s moving through molasses—her head turns too slowly, she registers what she’s seeing too slowly.

Stature, huge, wrapped in a tangle of electricity, head thrown back and face contorted in pain.

Kate starts running before she knows what her feet are doing.

The ground feels like the ocean, unsteady and uneven, and Kate isn’t sure if it’s all due to the ground being ripped apart by explosive impacts or if there’s a concussion taking root in her brain, but she runs anyway. She runs because she has to.

Stature is shrinking back to normal Cassie-size as Kate nears her.

Fifty feet.

Cassie crumples to her knees.

Twenty feet.

Kate draws an arrow and aims it at the Chitauri approaching Cassie.

She looses it.

Ten feet.

The arrow embeds itself in the alien’s neck but can’t stop the momentum of his slash, from shoulder to hip, across Cassie’s body.

* * *

Kate’s breath is too loud in her ears—everything is wrong. It’s red, it’s too red, it’s—it’s—

She sees her hands from a great distance, shaking covered in something sticky and red, hovering over something sticky and red, there’s so much _red_ everywhere—

“I can’t get a read on Stature, can someone tell me what the hell’s going on?”

Kate takes a deep breath, another, another, gulping in air because her lungs aren’t working correctly. “Stature is down,” she says, her voice even in a way that feels impossible.

“Down—down what down? Like how down? Concussion?” Speed’s voice cuts through the silence, frantically trying to fill it.

“Down. She’s—“ Kate can’t wrap her brain around it any more than she can wrap her voice around the words. Her hands still press uselessly at Cassie’s wound.

She isn’t bleeding any more.

Garish blue pants and candy-apple red boots enter Kate’s field of vision.

“Hawkeye,” Rogers says, not unkindly. “We’ve got a job to finish.”

“Somebody tell us what the _hell_ is going on!” Patriot shouts.

"She's dead," Prodigy's voice is flat.

But he's the one who says it. He's the one who makes it true. Kate feels a welling of love and relief towards him in that instant, that she doesn’t have to say it. Her hands are still pressing at Cassie and Kate feels a faint puff of air as something snaps through the air past her. She looks up and sees a chitauri with what might be a startled expression, Steve's shield lodged in its chest.

He retrieves the shield and is back at her side faster than Kate can process, his hand under her elbow, hauling her upright.

“We’re not done yet,” he tells her, his voice low and urgent. “We still need you. You have to keep it together, Hawkeye.”

Kate feels herself nodding. She nods, and searches her mind until she can find what she’s looking for.

She might have a constant, low-level loathing for Jack Rollins, but he has taught her the finer points of compartmentalization and disassociation, and if she’s going to live through the day, those skills might be the reason for it.

* * *

Kate isn't bleeding profusely anymore but she's bleeding a lot as she stabs one of the Chitauri in the chest with its own weapon.

"Hawkeye--" Rogers calls, before his face changes and Kate ducks as he embeds his shield in another one of them.

It’s not quick enough—she feels the bite of one of their scythes in the back of her leg. Kate takes a step before the damage has a chance to register and feels the blood drain from her face and her head go light.

Rogers shouts "Fuck!" and he's at her side, pulling her arm over his shoulders and sliding his arm under her armpits so she can get weight off her leg. "All right?"

"Clearly not."

"Still alive, though. Stop complaining."

Kate can see another wave of chitauri rounding the corner, and she ducks out from under Rogers' arm to stand back-to-back with him, letting him take some of her weight.

Above them, there’s a flash of red and gold as Stark hauls a bomb into space.

It’s so stupid and improbably, it seems like a joke—

But the bomb goes off, and all the chitauri crumple at their feet.

“Wait,” Speed’s voice seems faint from the comms. “Um. _What_?”

* * *

“Where is he?” Kate shoves past a SHIELD agent—well, three—on her way into Stark Tower. “Loki. Where is he?”

Technically, she half-shoves one of them. Steve Rogers is still helping her get around, since her leg hasn’t been looked at by anyone, and so far he seems more than happy to throw his weight around to help her out. Fighting against a common enemy tends to have that effect on people, Kate’s noticed.

The assorted Avengers don’t stop their conversations.

No matter; Kate’s got eyes and she can see a contingent of security trailing down a hall. Loki is the only thing worth guarding; she hobbles that direction before her path is barred by two flat-faced agents.

“Get Coulson on the line; he’ll clear it,” Kate throws some Team Leader, Don’t Fuck With Me into her voice.

Natasha stares at her. If it was anyone other than Natasha, Kate would say the look was sympathetic.

“Loki killed Coulson,” Stark says. There’s a buzzing in Kate’s ears, growing louder. She feels the pressure of Rogers’ arm around her waist because her knees have gone soft. “I don’t know who you kids are, but we’re not letting you go and  _talk_ to that nutjob.”

“Come again?” Teddy, it might be Teddy who asks.

“Loki stabbed Phil right through the heart,” Natasha clarifies. “He’s not—"

Kate shoves away from Steve, shouldering her way into the two agents, her team trailing behind her.

“What the hell did we just say about not talking to the nutjob?” Tony starts after them.

“Hulkling,” is all Kate says before there’s the distinct sound of someone being slammed up against a wall.

The agents close ranks around the door; Kate tilts her head and a blue light shoves them out of her way. “Thank you, Wiccan.”

She opens the door.

* * *

Compared to the mayhem outside these four walls, the room Loki is being kept in is pristine. He’s in archaic looking cuffs and looks like he’s gotten the shit kicked out of him. For a second, Kate feels a pang of sympathy.

It’s a very fast second.

“So,” she finally says.

“So,” Loki agrees, reclining as best he can in a stiff chair. “Hawkeye. Come to scold?”

“Scolding would imply that I care about your well-being, Loki,” she manages in a very calm voice. The calmest. She’s fine. She can do this.

It’s obviously not the answer Loki was expecting; something deflates in him.

“Ah. Hoping to gain the seal of approval of the Avengers out there by publicly denouncing me?”

Kate doesn’t take the bait; instead she takes a deep breath. She can do this.

“Not twelve hours ago, Stature sat in my apartment and told me how she didn’t believe this was really you. That you wouldn’t do something like this. You had to be under duress, brainwashed, anything.”

“Sounds like Cassie.”

“Yeah,” Kate finally manages to look at Loki. “It does.”

They stare at each other, silence wrapping around them. It feels like it’s trying to strangle her.

“Which one are you?” She finally asks, her voice controlled.

“What?” Loki’s smile doesn’t falter for a second.

Gotcha. She's spent enough time with Loki—they all had—and they know his tells, his mindgames. Kate knows the tenuous lines of morality Loki had drawn around himself, at least in his most recent incarnation, and this isn't it. It’s been bothering her since he appeared in the sky with his magic and his poorly thought out plan of world domination. There’s something wrong with this whole thing. It’s too big. Loki likes to do things subtly. He likes to take control, to do the Thing, and he likes to watch as you realize that you played right into his hands.

Even that stupid bullshit he just pulled in New Mexico—it was small. One weapon. An army of aliens? Doesn’t seem his style.

"I am Loki Laufeyson," he proclaims with a wide grin, stretched too thin. "Trickster."

 "We'll see," Kate narrows her eyes at him. _I don’t believe you._ "You killed Phil.”

Loki doesn’t speak, and Kate works her jaw back and forth, trying to find the right words, the way to say this so that Loki _understands_. “And you brought your Chitauri buddies down to party. And even as they poured through a hole in the sky, Cassie said, Loki wouldn’t do this. He’s not that person anymore. He’s a good person.”

“And you don’t think I’m a good person any more, do you?” Loki is all bravado and smug grins.

“Oh, no. I don’t think you’re a  _person_ at all.” She regards him through a layer of cool impassivity; she has to or she’ll kill him. The right words keep clicking into place. She can do this.

“Your entire life Odin told you Frost Giants were monsters, and then he tells you that you are one. You’re a monster. And when we worked with you—we knew the weight of legacy, of having people tell you who or what you are. We believed you could change. And then you bring a war here. I'm not a fan of that."

"Really. I hadn't noticed."

The _wrongness_ of Loki slaps her in the face with those words, like a sour taste on the back of her tongue. Uncaring, insensitive, manipulative, she's seen Loki play all those games. This isn't any of them. This invasion isn't their Loki's style. Is it any Loki's style? Clearly doomed to fail— _clearly_ for someone who spent as much time among humans as Loki had. This isn’t the Loki she knows. This is—

That bitter taste in her mouth again. A flash, a memory, of the one time she’d seen _that_ Loki, the one from the End, the one that comes in a fucks everything up, because why not?

It doesn’t matter what she says, Kate realizes. This Loki doesn’t care.

“Cassie is dead because of you.” Her words sound flat, _feel_ flat. Kate rises, feeling old. Tired joints, tired mind. “Goodbye, Loki.”

“Kate,” he says as she turns to the door. “Kate.  _Hawkeye_.”

She pauses in spite of herself, head tilted to look at him. Something wars in his eyes, something that she’s seen before, maybe, a long time ago. Everything feels like a long time ago right now. She wonders if someone’s shoved all of the Lokis that ever were into one body, may the strongest survive.

“Perhaps she’ll rise from the dead.”

The words fight for a way out of her mouth,  _asshole_ and  _I’m going to kill you_ and  _I hope you rot in a dungeon until the end of time, and then the next end of time_ ; the all-encompassing white-hot rage she feels stops up her mouth and nothing comes out.

“SHIELD has secrets,” Loki continues as she opens the door. “Don’t presume to know anything about them.”

Kate’s fingers curl and uncurl, into a fist, out of a fist.

“I looked into this team. Our— _your_  team. Into SHIELD.”

“Did you.”

“Ask Barton. Ask him about SHIELD’s plans for your team.”

She turns then, just so she can barely see him. “Don’t you  _dare_ speak to me about Clint.”

“You won’t let them take me."

Kate stares at him, eyes blank. “I don’t know you.”

“Come now, you’re not going to let them throw me in the dungeon—“ Loki, or Loki-but-not, looks panicked now. “What am I supposed to do?”

Not the God of Stories, then.

Or maybe he is the God of Stories, but other things, too.

It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care.

Their Loki had tried. He’d screwed up a lot, and he’d done horrible things, but he _tried_. He wanted to change.

The person wearing his face isn’t that Loki.

_What am I supposed to do?_

The question hangs in the air.

Kate braces her knuckles on the table and stares him down.

“Rot.”

* * *

When she gets out of the room, there's a SHIELD escort waiting for them. Kate thinks they should probably be using everyone they have to deal with, you know, the city, but apparently the have enough to run errands to fetch her and her team.

Because, oh yeah, they're not just there for Loki or Clint or Rogers.

Kate doesn't like the glint in Rollins' eye as he rounds them up. Not at all.

Steve Rogers looks like he just got pulled in before he even had a chance to sit down. There's still a smear of ash or dirt or something across his cheek, and the gash across his nose is still oozing.

His eyes keep darting to Garrett, to the camera not so cleverly disguised in the corner, to Kate, until she meets his eyes. He glances meaningfully at the camera, then at Sitwell again, before looking back at her.

"I think today has proven that such young, inexperienced fighters shouldn't be allowed in the field," he starts. "Disobeying orders." He eyes Sitwell again, and Kate can see he senior agent nod out of the corner of her eye. "To say nothing of the fact that one of your former teammates went rogue--"

"And led an alien army to attack Earth," Garrett interrupts when it appears Rogers isn't doing a good enough job of selling SHIELD's points. "I don't think we can stress that enough. One of your former teammates tried to destroy the Earth. That alone would make me wary of you as a unit, but combined with your disregard for chain of command and your flagrant displays in front of the general public today have led us—have led the Captain here—to realize we can no longer trust you."

"What are you saying?" Eli shifts in his seat next to Kate, swallowing hard.

“I don’t ever want to see you in those uniforms again,” Captain America tells them.

His words feel like a punch in the gut; she feels likes she's caught fire, all of her blood rushing to her skin and out of her head, the room spinning around her.

The room stops moving when Rogers pins her with another look before his eyes drift to various points of the room.

If Kate didn't know better, she'd say Steve Rogers thought they were being watched, or that he was being watched by someone he didn't trust and was trying to--

“SHIELD is willing to overlook your misconduct and keep the identities of you and your team secret,” Rogers finally continues. “Providing you sign some,” he looks down again at the papers. “Nondisclosure agreements.”

Tommy chokes on air.

Someone pokes their head in the room.

“Captain Rogers, we need you down the hall—I’ll finish up here.”

Captain Rogers looks at the papers, at Kate and her team, and nods. “Right.”

A balding man takes his place—short, a little portly. Kate recognizes him but can’t pin a name to him; all she can think is that he isn’t Phil.

“I’m Agent Sitwell,” he appears to read Kate’s thoughts. “I’ve been brought in on some of Agent Coulson’s projects—“

Tommy snorts.

“Rest assured,” he thumbs through a dossier, “ _Speed_ , that you were a project. An unstable one, I might add. Agent Coulson believed in you, but he’s gone now, and after the incident in Hell’s Kitchen—well, the Director thinks it’s best if we scrap your team.”

The blood rushes to Kate’s head, a low buzz humming in her ears.

This is real.

“As the Captain said, we’ll be requiring all of you to sign nondisclosure agreements, similar to the ones you signed when we first recruited you, though these are a bit more...thorough.” Sitwell sighs. “I should warn you that should you refuse to sign, you’ll be opening yourselves up to legal unpleasantness.”

“Excuse me?” Teddy is the one who speaks up.

“Because you acted without orders, the City of New York could theoretically charge you for some of the events that happened. Reckless endangerment, destruction of property, manslaughter—one or two charges, you could probably play the hero card and beat them. But hundreds—thousands—of charges? I really think this is the best move.”

“Why would we be charged and not the Avengers?” Billy interjects. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Well, Black Widow and Hawkeye— _other_ Hawkeye, sorry,” Sitwell says with a nod to her, “were, of course, acting under SHIELD’s orders. As were Captain America, Iron Man, and the Hulk. I think they’re playing some sort of diplomatic immunity card for Thor, I’m not sure,” he shrugs apologetically.

It’s almost like he’s on their side, but something in her—it doesn’t sit right. Loki's words echo in the back of her head.  _Don’t presume to know anything about them_.

Teddy opens his mouth and closes it with a snap.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” Kate finally finds her voice. “Never sign something you haven’t read.”

“Of course, Hawkeye,” Sitwell smiles at her. Phil wouldn’t have smiled when he said that. He would have given a curt nod but those little creases would have appeared around his eyes because he would have been thinking about smiling.

Phil had been the one to tell her to read everything SHIELD put in front of her. It seems like the least she can do to honor him.

Sitwell slides the folder towards her, the clumsy movement scattering the papers.

“One short,” Teddy notes, stacking them up.

Kate catches his eye. “Cassie doesn’t need one anymore.”

“What?” he covers his confusion well. “Right. I mean. I just can’t—“ Billy puts a hand on Teddy’s shoulder—to Sitwell, it probably looks like a comforting gesture. Coulson would have known it was a communicative gesture.

“Agent Sitwell,” Kate says in her placating and too-polite voice. _Don’t patronize me, Hawkeye,_ Phil said about that voice. _I know you’re trying to pull one over on me._ Phil insisted on a solid poker face, poker voice. “Could I have a minute with my team, please? I’m sure you can understand this is very hard for us.”

“Of course,” Sitwell smiles at them. Maybe it’s a sympathetic smile, Kate can’t be sure now. Not Phil, he's not Phil and she can't read him right now. “Take all the time you need. You kids did a good thing,” he pauses at the door. “But we have real superheroes now. Go live your lives.”

“One more thing,” Kate finds herself jogging over to Sitwell, catching him by the door. “Stature. Is she getting released to her brother?”

Sitwell is shaking his head before Kate is even done speaking. “I’m afraid not. We can’t—the Pym Particles, you understand. It’s too dangerous.”

“Did he seriously just say that?” Tommy says, once Sitwell’s footsteps recede down the hall. “We have _real heroes_ now, what a dick. Shit. What’s got you guys all weird?”

“We’re short a contract,” Teddy slides them to Tommy.

“Yeah,” Tommy’s forehead puckers. “Cassie.”

Kate shakes her head, then presses a finger to her ear.

“We good?”

“You’re invisible,” David confirms. “Five minutes, tops.”

Kate pulls out the earbud and they crowd close so everyone can hear.

“Did you catch all that?” Kate asks David. “I thought it was interesting you weren’t mentioned.”

“You caught that, too?” she can imagine David rubbing his hand across his forehead as he sighs. “There’s something wrong here.”

“Agreed,” Billy nods.

“If someone’s shutting us down it means they have high enough clearance to know about us, but not high enough to  _know_  us,” David’s words are rapid-fire. “That’s anyone level eight on up, but not the Director or Deputy Director, because they know us  _all_. Or could be someone operating outside of their clearance level.”

“That makes me feel  _so much_  better,” Tommy flings himself into a chair, then pops right back up.

Kate hesitates for a breath.

“Scrub us,” she decides. “We were never here.”

“Me, too?”

“If they don’t know who you are, feel free to stay. Up to you. And how safe you feel.”

“Right,” keys clack from David’s end. “I’ll meet you guys when I get off.”

“Stay safe,” Kate shoves the earbud back in her ear. “Let’s go before they change their minds.”

“And let us be a team again?” Billy stares at her, bewildered, as she pushes him out the door.

“And decide they don’t want to let us leave,” she clarifies.

* * *

Kate is the last one out, making her way down the hall as casual as you please, trying to blend in with all the other regular agents. Halfway there, and no one has noticed her or her team’s absence—or they have, and they’re keeping that information quiet, so they can corral them back with the least amount of fuss--

Someone grabs Kate’s arm, swinging her around and into a corner she knows is a camera blind spot, bringing her face to—well, face to chest—with Captain Steve America Rogers.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Rogers,” Kate clutches her chest. “I thought you were a chupacabra.”

“I wanted to—wait, a what?”

“A chupacabra. I have a feud with chupacabras.” And Loki, the bringer of the chupacabras. God, none of this makes sense. Loki’s a trickster. This is a different Loki. But why? Kate’s brain feels like it’s in a never-ending scramble trying to logic through this whole mess. “You know what, dude? What the hell, I don’t have to tell you anything." Kate yanks her arm out of his grip. "You just _fired_ us from an organization you didn’t even know existed until two weeks ago. Go to hell.”

“You’re telling me this _isn’t_ hell?” He sighs when Kate continues to glare at him. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about this. I just have some friendly advice. Keep your head down.” He nods in the direction her team went.

“Advice on subtlety might be a little more palatable coming from a guy _not_ dressed like the American flag.”

Rogers raises his eyebrows at her. “Don’t you have--?”

“Patriot doesn’t lecture me on subtlety. Other things, sure.” She sighs, rocking back on her heels and really looking at the man. He looks tired, the kind of tired that goes down to the core. “Take your own advice, Captain. Things have changed since you pulled your Rip van Winkle act.”

“I noticed that.” He presses his palms against his eyes, leaning back against the wall. "I don't know what's going on here. Two weeks ago I was in Europe, seventy years ago. I'm still trying to figure this out. Maybe those agents were right, and your team is out of control. Maybe they're wrong. All I know is what I've seen so far, and you're good at this. You were out there with us, and they weren't. That counts for something."

"Does it, now."

"Yes." He pulls his hands away from his face and glares at her. "It does."

Kate can feel the last of her bravado and energy slipping away, the weight of the day pressing down on her. “Catch you on the flip side.”

"Hawkeye," he says, and she stops in spite of herself, turning to face him. "Watch your six."

Kate sighs. As much as she wants to scream at him, Rogers is probably at just as much of a loss as the rest of them. "Ten-four, Captain."

* * *

“What did Rogers say to you?” David’s voice cuts through Kate’s mental fog.

“When?”

“When he cornered you at SHIELD.”

Four heads swivel to stare at Kate.

“Steve Rogers talked to you? When?” Billy asks.

“Before we left. He apologized. For firing us. Sort of. And told us to keep our heads down.”

“That’s really nice,” Teddy says, hero-worship in his eyes.

“No, it wasn’t nice,” Kate snaps. “He fired us. That’s not an acceptable way to make nice. You can’t apologize for firing someone.”

“It wasn’t personal…” Tommy trails off when he catches Kate’s glare. “Um.”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘It’s just business’ I will force you to watch _You’ve Got Mail_ twelve times in a row.”

Tommy shuts his mouth with a snap.

“So what’s the plan?” Teddy finally looks up, and now everyone but Eli is staring at her. She forces herself not to glance at Cassie’s empty seat, seeking encouragement that isn’t there anymore.

 _It’s your own fault_.

“We scatter,” she says, with far more confidence than she feels. “Take a break. Six months, give or take, to put whatever SHIELD agents are going to be watching us off their guard. It’ll also give us some time to figure out our next move.”

She looks each member of her team in the eye. “For us to make sure we want to keep doing this. Losing Cassie—because of Loki—I don’t think that’s something any of us counted on. I want to make sure we’re all squared away in our own heads before we keep going. Okay?”

Teddy looks offended, like he can’t believe she’d call their desire to be heroes into question, but Teddy isn’t the one she’s worried about.

“Sounds like half a plan,” David shrugs, his grin not quite up to standard but good to see all the same.

“That’s the  _whole_ plan,” Kate rolls her eyes. “Laying low is the plan, and if there’s a second part to that plan, it defeats the purpose of  _laying low._  No trying to find Loki. No digging in SHIELD’s trash. If we’re good—"

“But not suspiciously good,” David interjects.

“—but not  _suspiciously_ good, they’ll ease up on the security details that are undoubtedly being put into place.”

“And Captain Rogers?” Eli looks up from where he’s been staring at the table. “What do we do about him?”

“What do you mean, what do we do about him?” David says with a shake of his head. “There’s nothing we  _need_ to do about him.”

“He doesn’t know who we are or what we look like,” Kate muses. “So how would he know what we do? We’ll retool our suits; we’ll have to, anyway, since SHIELD confiscated our gear. He said he never wanted to see us in  _those_ uniforms again. I was getting a little tired of the jumpsuit look, myself.” She’s been turning those words over in her head, trying to parse out inflection and stress and meaning; as a warning against doing what they do or a call not to get caught, and she’s come up with nothing solid.

“About that,” pulling a bag up from under the table, David offers them all a grin. "Not the outfits. But, ah. Well."

He starts pulling stuff out of his bag, and it's like he's Assassin Santa. Eli's shield, Kate's bow-- _hers_ , not the one SHIELD issued her--a wad of material that looks like the stuff used for Tommy's suit--and a thick stack of manila folders. 

"SHIELD isn't big on hard copies anymore," he says. "But these are ours, from back in the day."

Kate doesn't have favorites, but David is  _totally_ her favorite.

"Not that this isn't fun," Billy interrupts Kate and Eli getting reacquainted with their weapons, "But we're missing a really important thing, here. That whole thing about the City of New York throwing us in jail and suing us for all we're worth."

"What part of  _I wiped us from SHIELD's servers_ was unclear?"

Billy and David glare at each other.

Teddy clears his throat. "I think the threat was real," he says once all eyes are on him. "But I think that SHIELD doesn't want the world to know about us. They aren't going to be advertising our existence, you know?"

“How are they going to explain us away? There's got to be some footage of us, somewhere, fighting alien slugs,” the words snap out of Tommy.

“It’s SHIELD,” David leans back in his seat, shoulders sagging. “Footage can be altered. Witnesses can be convinced they didn’t see something they actually did. You guys look enough like the Avengers that most people will probably just assume they saw the...other Avenger. People who saw Hulkling will think they just remembered the Hulk wrong. Anyone who saw Kate will think stress made them see Hawkeye as a woman. It’s not even hard. It's standard SHIELD operating procedure.”

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re terrifying?” Tommy asks.

"Teddy's right," Eli rises, spreading his hands on the table. "We were the Avengers trial run. We're people nobody would miss if something happened, people who's deaths could be explained away pretty easily. They don't want people to know about us because they don't want any more public scrutiny that they're already going to be getting. Can you imagine? Public finds out about us--American citizens recruited as kids--SHIELD doesn't want that." There's an underlying  _and I would know_ to Eli's statement.

"Okay, then," Kate looks each member of her team in the eyes. "A year sound good? Anybody who wants to keep doing this, we meet a year from now, right here."

Kate catches David before he heads out, dragging him into a corner. "Just so we're clear. How wiped is wiped?"

His eyes dart to Eli, still saying goodbye to Teddy, before looking at her again. "I did what I could, but it's SHIELD. Most of our info is gone. But there's stuff squirreled away somewhere, there's got to be. I can't destroy what I can't find, but I'm pretty sure--no, I _am_ sure--that to piece us together, someone would have to be able to access most of SHIELD's records, be awesome at spotting patterns, and just generally really smart."

"So they'd have to be you, then."

David's responding eyeroll is mitigated by the grin he can't smother. "Flattery gets you nowhere, Hawkeye."

"On the contrary, flattery gets me  _everywhere_ ," she draws him in for a hug, quick and tight, before shooing him out of the warehouse. "Be safe."

"That's rich, coming from you," he hollers as she shuts the door.

* * *

Eli is the only one left, staring at the table they’ve all sat around for years, debating missions and eating take-out and just being them.

“This will be good, Eli,” Kate tries to convince him, trys to head off his hesitation and his argument. “And if someone decides not to come back—well, no pressure.”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not coming back, Kate. I’m quitting this,” he waves his hand around to indicate the room, the team. “I’m not cut out for it.”

Kate tries to think of something to say, but all she can find is silence for too long. “Eli. Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not funny.”

“And I’m not joking.” He sits back down with a sigh. After half a second, Kate follows. “That stuff they gave me to boost my powers—I never liked who I was when I was on it. And I don’t wanna die, Kate.”

“None of us want to die, Eli.”

“Yeah,” his lips twist in an approximation of a smile. “But you don’t act on that fear. The team—they listen to you Kate, and they respect you. If I didn’t think you could handle it, I wouldn’t leave."

“That’s—Eli, are you serious? You’re done, quits?”

“Hey,” Eli pulls her close and kisses her forehead. “You’ll be fine.”

“Of course _I’ll_ be fine. What about you? What will you do without us?”

Kate makes it halfway to Clint’s before she sees the news.

Before she sees General Ross attempting to reassure the public, though why he’s been picked as someone with any sort of authority about these things, she doesn’t know. The man couldn’t even keep tabs on Bruce Banner—although one of those times had admittedly been sabotage, and Kate will take full responsibility for that—

Cassie’s body being kept finally connects with Ross.

Kate retches into the alley. Her knees give out and she stumbles against brick and concrete, her clothes digging into her fresh scrapes and restarting finally-staunched bleeding.

“Hey,” the voice is faint, the hand on her shoulder hot. “Hey, are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Kate would laugh except she can’t even draw a breath, instead shaking her head frantically.

“You sure? You have a concussion or something?”

Kate looks at the woman—dark hair, rings around her eyes like she’s healing from a bar fight gone wrong. Kate shakes her head. “Just—a minute. Need a minute.”

“Okay,” the woman looks doubtful that a minute will cure Kate’s ills, and that’s accurate, but still she stays, barking a few _fuck-offs_ to nosy bystanders who take an interest in Kate.

When she’s caught her breath, the woman wraps a hand around Kate’s elbow and hauls her back to the street, half carrying her to Clint’s building.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Kate stares up at the building, improbably still all in one piece, and thinks with despair all the stairs she’s going to have to climb.

“Yeah. Thanks, by the way.”

“Not a problem.”

In spite of the heat, the woman yanks up a grey hood, shoving her hands deep into pockets. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

It is, Kate thinks, a bit late for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are. I can't make any promises for how quickly chapters will come, but they're there...also, I'm going to stop denying myself and my chapter-naming conventions. Each chapter is going to be a song title that inspired the chapter, so by the time this fic is finished in a million years, you'll have a playlist! Huzzah!  
> Also, the complete phrase is "Sugar, are you rationed?" because Steve using 1940s Speak™ is a precious thing to me.


	2. Sweater Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sand, sun, and--oh, wait. Nope, no fun here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologize to phoenixyfriend right here and now for what's about to occur. I promise you, it's going to be okay.  
> also, there are mentions of suicidal thoughts and self harm. general post-loki trauma

If asked, Kate would probably admit to feeling numb the first six months after New York. 

She feels a little bad about how grateful she is that she doesn’t have to take care of the boys after. Because she has to take care of Clint. 

Clint, who sometimes wakes from night terrors, who is drunk four days out of seven just to dull the horror of having someone in his head. 

Kate's hatred of SHIELD grows. Sure, they take care of Clint. Medical help, counseling, therapists. But they keep Natasha moving, moving, always moving. She stops in for a day or two after a stretch of three weeks away, and it's not enough. Clint could use her right now. Hell,  _Kate_ could use her right now. And it’s an intricate dance; helping Clint while staying out of sight of his SHIELD superiors. If she’s being honest, the lack of trouble she’s gotten from them is disconcerting.  

Kate understands, on some level, what Clint is going through. She understands the violation—but she doesn’t know what Loki showed Clint. She’d expect anything of this version of Loki.  

When she drags him to bed, sometimes he'll tell her things, not meant to be heard or remembered. Things Loki showed him, the desolation of earth, lies and illusions of blood on his hands—how he thought he'd killed her, Natasha, Nick. How he remembers what it looked like when he choked the life out of her.  

There's no way _I know what you sound like when you die_ isn't creepy.  

But Kate loves Clint like he’s a part of her, and Loki isn’t going to be the thing that destroys him. He's not going to be the thing that destroys _them_ , everything they are as Hawkeyes. 

And some days, he's fine. He can compartmentalize; he knows it wasn't him. Usually the days when Natasha is around. Some days, though. 

Some days he's not. 

* * *

 

Kate is a vigilante. She knows this, on a logical level. 

Also on a logical level, she declines to think about it. Like, she just doesn’t.  

It’s probably unhealthy and a little bit illegal to take her anxieties and gut-churning fear about Clint and Clint's family and Clint killing himself out on purse-snatchers and carjackers.  

Kate doesn’t feel bad about it, which is part of the problem, She should feel bad about it, right? 

She should definitely be more cautious and not go after a ring of Special K dealers when she’s out of sorts. 

Sure, there’s only five of them, and four of them are skinny, twerpy little frat boys, but she’s not on her a-game.  

Kate is on the floor when she sees tall black boots and torn denim walk in front of her, and then the last frat boy standing getting thrown out a window.  

“Oh God, not _you_ ,” Kate says before she can stop herself. _Her_. _That woman._ The one who came poking around right after the battle, the one Kate almost threw up on in an alleyway the day of the battle. The chick who just won’t leave Kate the fuck alone.  

“Screw you, too.” 

Kate groans. 

“Wait, don’t I know you?” 

“No.” 

“Huh. Ben Urich was right,” the woman sounds completely nonplussed. “ _I_ was right. You aren’t just some dumb heiress.” 

Kate groans, fingers prodding at her hopefully-not-broken ribs, and the woman appears to reconsider. “Well. Maybe you’re still dumb.” 

Jessica Jones grabs Kate under the elbows and pulls her to her feet. 

Pulls Kate to her feet, flings Kate in the air, it’s one or the other. For a woman who looks like she passed out drunk in a trash can the night before, she's insanely strong. “Nice to see you’re still an asshole PI.” 

“Thanks, I really try.” 

“Are you following me?” 

“Why would I be following you?” 

Jones looks Kate over, thoroughly unimpressed.  

“What’s your deal? Superstrength?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jones picks at her teeth as she surveys the broken window.  

"Right." Kate brushes her hands off on her pants, wincing when she realizes she's got a long scratch down her palm.  

"What's _your_ deal?" Jones throws Kate's question back at her.  

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

Jones looks at Kate like she's a puzzle to be solved or tossed in the trash.  

"You like coffee?" Jones says. "I like coffee. You should buy me coffee to say thanks for saving your life." 

"You didn't save my life. I had it handled." 

Jessica Jones takes her sweet time lighting a cigarette for what appears to be the express purpose of blowing smoke in Kate's face. "Bullshit." 

Kate valiantly tries to suppress a cough and fails. 

"So. Coffee. Let's go. None of that yuppie shit, either. I want real coffee." 

"Coffee? Seriously?" 

"Well, you're too young to buy me alcohol. What are you, nine?" 

Kate can't help the offended squawk that comes out of her mouth. 

* * *

 

Jessica Jones is almost as bad at being a human person as Clint is, right down to the weird skills and superpowers that get them into more trouble than maybe they are worth. 

If anyone was taking notes on exceptional weirdos. 

Which Kate is not. 

She doesn't do that any more.

 

Except Doreen. Doreen doesn't count. How are you supposed to meet Doreen and _not_ take note of her?

 

 

Does David count? 

 

David doesn't count. 

 

Kate calls Eli to check.  

David counts. 

 

 

It's not like Kate has a list of superhumans, okay? Playing what amounts to fantasy football with superhuman teams was Nick's thing, not hers.

She doesn't do that. SHIELD does that. 

* * *

SHIELD doesn't let Clint spend a lot of time alone. He has to go in every three days to talk to someone and see if his meds are still working. Kate and Natasha tag-team this; it’s hard for Clint to see his swings in mood since he’s _in_ them.  

Thankfully, SHIELDMed doesn't care about who Kate might be or might have been. That, or SHIELD hasn't disseminated information about the dissolution of her team, or else Sitwell is confident that if they blow the whistle on SHIELD, SHIELD has plenty of stuff to fire back at them. Mutually assured destruction, and all that. 

She gets to help Clint, though, and that's what matters. And he bitches and mopes but he _goes_ , and that’s important. He takes his meds. He talks. 

* * *

 They locked up the medicine cabinets after Kate found Clint passed out with an empty pill bottle in his hand, but hey, that was just the once.  

Kate’s mind has a way of skirting around this memory, skimming the surface of it for information. She doesn’t like to pull it out and examine it; that would require her remembering it.  

She doesn’t need that kind of terror in her life. It’s hard enough as-is. 

* * *

 Kate ducks out whenever a very pregnant Laura facetimes with the kiddo and the Dublin. 

It's not that she doesn't love them, this big messy family that somehow became hers, too. That's why she's _here_ with Clint. So that when he forgets where he is and who he's with, it's not around them. It's with her.  

She gets a cracked rib and a few black eyes and a lot of contrition from Clint for her trouble.  

Kate doesn't mind taking a hit for Laura.  

She's not selfless enough to be glad she's taking a hit for Nick, though. 

It's just—she doesn't think he's Nick to her, any more. 

They'd worked _really_ hard on that relationship, too.  

Thanks, Loki. 

* * *

Also, if Kate did have a list of superhumans, it would be nothing like the Index, because hers would probably be handwritten on a yellow legal pad, and the Index is on a highly encrypted SHIELD server. 

Completely different. 

And just hypothetically, if Jessica Jones' name _was_ on a list Kate may or may not have, her name would be summarily removed once she offered Kate a job helping her with her PI shit.

Jessica is a terrible boss, but Kate's had worse. So far, Jessica hasn't tried to kill her.

It's a new and refreshing change of pace.

* * *

Clint gets better, though, that's the important thing. Clint does great. Clint achieves enough equilibrium to start putting his foot in his mouth again. 

Kate wants to yell at him, sometimes, for being an ungrateful bastard. Usually right after wanting to yell at him, she's glad he's an ungrateful bastard, hopes that means he doesn't remember the night he's gotten his stomach pumped or the times he'd found her crying in the living room because he's too smart and there's no way she can remove all the deadly objects from his home because they're _all_ lethal in his hands. "I'm not going to do anything, Girly-girl," he's promised, a dozen times.  

So, objectively, Clint bitching at her about how she’s closed off and also in his home all the time is a huge improvement. Better than blank-faced Clint or I-should-be-dead Clint, I’d-like-to-be-dead Clint, or Let’s-give-this-death-thing-a-shot Clint.  

Not literally, thank any gods but the Asgardian ones. Kate and Natasha—and David had gotten roped in, too—had combed the apartment top to bottom to make sure there wasn't a scrap of ammo in the place. 

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s a right bastard to her, though.  

He gives her the shove she needs to leave. Everything in this stupid city reminds her of Clint, or Cassie, or Loki—Failure, Failure, and More Failure. 

Kate gets in her car and starts driving.  

She doesn’t stop until she hits the ocean. 

* * *

She isn’t drunk enough, not nearly drunk enough, not drunk _at all_ when she sees the guy standing on the side of the building.  

Like, straight out from the side of the building.  

“That’s different,” she says.  

The guy starts.  

He’s big, though his height is a little hard to gauge since he’s at a weird angle. His hair is stark white in a way that’s reminiscent of Tommy, and it might just be her mind playing tricks on her, but when he blinks his eyes seem strange.  

“I’m Kate,” she offers her hand to him, and after what appears to be much deliberation, he crosses to her and shakes her hand.  

He’s still standing on the side of the building.  

“No,” he tells her. 

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll leave you alone, then.” 

“No, not—not _no._ ” He sighs and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “N-o-h. _Noh_. It’s my name.” 

“Ah.” 

“Noh-Varr, to be precise.” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m an alien.” 

“Good for you.” 

Noh-Varr looks disappointed that this doesn’t earn him a scream. 

Kate takes pity on him. “You’re not the first alien I’ve met.” 

“Abducted by little green men, were you?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say _little_ ,” Kate hedges, since Teddy _is_ green, and one could argue that he _did_ abduct her that one time in Romania.  

"Ever been on a spaceship?" 

"Do I _look_ like an amateur?" 

Noh-Varr looks at her like this is a question that has an actual answer for a few moments before catching her sarcasm. "Would you like to see mine?" 

“Sounds kinky.” 

HIs grin is just the right mixture of sheepish and dirty. 

* * *

It’s not healthy, Kate knows this. She also knows nothing about the past year of her life has been healthy.  

Noh is easy. She doesn’t have to pretend to be someone she isn’t around him, she doesn’t have to worry about him. He’s good at taking care of himself, and that’s a valuable trait. 

He also brings her, the dog, and the cat she's watching food.  

Obviously, he's one of the greatest people she knows.  

Kate tells him as much when they're sprawled on the too-small bed in the trailer, Noh using her stomach as a pillow.  

"Do all humans have such low standards, or is it just you?" He mumbles sleepily as she plays with his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.  

"I have the _highest_ of standards. Don't be rude," she grabs a fistful of his hair and gives a long, slow tug.  

Noh chirps, bright and rolling, like a purr but pitched higher. She wishes that there was a cute nickname that could incorporate his genetic splicing. _Roach_ seems mean. _Bug Boy_ sounds juvenile.  

"Is that why you came to earth? To see how low our standards are?"  

He never tells her what he's here for. Secret agent in space, whatever. She doesn't honestly care. 

"There is this educational film," he rolls over to look at her. " _Earth Girls Are Easy_." 

"Shut up." 

"Jeff Goldblum is a great role model of mine," Noh's voice is serious but his eyes are laughing at her. 

Kate grabs a shoe and smacks him with it. It might be more dramatic if the entire trailer didn't smell like sex. 

* * *

When she's not chasing Weed Lords and being the _hit_ part of a hit-and-run, using and abusing the PI skills she's picked up from Jess in the past few months, Kate likes to stare at the ocean. 

According to Billy's completely unwelcome comments on her Instagram posts, this is actually called brooding.  

So Kate broods, and digs her toes into the sand, salt wind chapping her lips and tangling in her hair. 

She tries not to think about anything.  

She fails a lot. 

Cassie takes up a lot of her thoughts. Technicolor flashbacks where she can see and hear and smell Cassie dying, her blood drying sticky on Kate's shooting glove. 

It's just as hard to breathe out here as it was back in New York.  

 

But sometimes, she can hear the rattle of Cassie's labored breathing, feel the give of her body, and Kate digs her toes farther into the sand, digs her fingernails into her arms, and the memory continues, and she can see red and blue, can feel a firm hand under her elbow, pulling Kate back to herself.  

She's thankful, in those moments, for Steve Rogers. She hopes that wherever he is—overthrowing governments, rescuing hostages, promoting truth, freedom, and the American way—that he has someone watching his back.  

But also that he gets punched in the face. 

Kate doesn't have a relationship with Steve Rogers, but even the lack of relationship is complicated. 

* * *

 

"I didn't know they were your team!" Noh says, like this will make her feel better. 

Maybe it should. Maybe in some alternate reality, she wouldn't see this as the cutting betrayal it feels like. It's probably a world where Cassie is still alive, so that any attempted assault on her team doesn't feel as unforgivable. 

Kate squeezes her phone in her hand, Billy's frantic voice still echoing in her mind. Teddy, _taken._ Taken from their apartment, from their home. Taken because of _her_. Noh-Varr, secret space agent, got to her team _through her_ and the thought makes her want to claw her own skin off. 

Later, though. 

"I couldn't let them do that to Oubliette," Noh continues, and like.  

Kate can understand this, completely. She's not _in_ love with Eli anymore, but she still loves him, and if someone threatened him, imprisoned him, tortured him, she couldn't leave him-- 

"I think I'm still in love with her," Noh says, and, well, fuck. "I don't—that doesn't mean I don't love you--" 

Right, well, none of this changes the fact that Noh's means of saving his ex-that-he-maybe-wishes-wasn't-his-ex-girlfriend involves dragging Teddy's ass into space so he can be executed, or become a space-prince that he's not ready to be, entirely against his will.  

Kate's phone buzzes with a message that she waves in Noh's face. "At least Snapchat works in space. Oh, seriously? Uranus?"  

Kate wants to throw lots of very heavy objects at Noh. Instead, she grabs her go-bag. "Let's go, Space Boy. I'll change on the way." 

"On the way--?" 

"Uranus is in space, right? Need to use a spaceship to get there?" He just stares at her. "Look, I can drive if you just want to stay here, but if you don't help me rescue Teddy I'll kill you." 

She's not joking, and he knows her well enough to understand that, at least. 

It's not the first secret base in space she's ever broken into. 

Probably won't be the last. 

It _will_ be the first one she's left a Life-Model Decoy in, programmed to be Teddy. 

"I have to think Whitney Frost will frown on this," Noh points out. 

"Whitney Frost can suck my dick." It's not Kate's finest moment by any stretch.  

* * *

 "I'll forgive you eventually," she tells Noh when they say their goodbyes. "Just don't push it." 

* * *

"So," Tommy throws himself in a seat across from Kate. "That's your idea of laying low?" He tosses a newspaper at her. She dodges it easily. "Are you going to read the headline?" 

"Why would I?" Kate preoccupies herself with brushing dust off of monitors. "This place is filthy." 

"Well, what did you expect?" Billy bumps her shoulder with his. "Nobody's been in here in months." 

It feels longer. It feels like years since they last set foot in the abandoned Bishop Publishing warehouse. An age. An eon. 

"It's good to be back," Tommy nods his head, surveying the warehouse. "Yeah. Good to be home." 

* * *

"Hey!" There's a bright light and existence shatters around them, glowing blue. "I could use a hand." 

"Don't you ever knock?" Kate gripes, wrapping her hand around America's wrist and tugging her through the hole.  

"Who knocks?" America shakes her hair out of her face. "You guys got some time to kill? There's a dude on the other side of the universe who could use some help." 

"That hasn't worked out well for us lately," Teddy informs her.  

"Aw, come on. Where's your sense of adventure? He's not that bad." America's eye twitches, and Kate gives her a pointed look. "Okay, he's a dick, but I'm trying to get a date out of his friend, and you have to win the whole team over." 

"That sounds familiar." 

Kate glares at Billy because _that is not helpful_.  

"What?" He blinks at her, oh-so-innocent. "I'm just saying. Why else do you think Tommy stuck around?" 

"I know that you have, like, phenomenal cosmic powers, and all," America says, grabbing Billy by the elbow and dragging him out of Kate's reach. "But you still need to know when you gotta shut up." 

* * *

Here's the thing Kate realizes when she's fighting next to a raccoon while a very angry sapling screeches _I AM GROOT_ from her shoulder:

They were a team independent of SHIELD’s support, a team regardless of the existence of the Avengers. 

They will be a team again, regardless of any outside variables.

It's not what they do, it's who they are.

"We're the _Guardians of the Galaxy_!" The not-a-dick guy crows.

Kate looks to her team. Wiccan, Speed, Hulkling, America, Prodigy.

Her smile is savage as she lets off another shot.

_We're the Avengers._

("Oh, I've heard of you!" Peter, his name turns out to be. "Earth's Mightiest Heroes, right?"

David laughs so hard he cries.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOH IS NOT A VILLAIN  
> just like all of the Young Avengers he makes some poor life choices. it's going to be a while before we see him again but i'm so excited about what's going to happen don't worry it's going to be wonderful and painful and hopefully worth it.  
> ahhh, I could have put in another fight scene but it wouldn't have served any character development purpose so it didn't make sense to write it #sorryimlazy


	3. Devil's Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you're a PI in New York. Sometimes, you fight crime. Sometimes, a teammate asks you to sneak into his top-secret government job.  
> Sometimes you shoot first.  
> (and sometimes you yell at, like, three different versions of Captain America in the same week. Life is weird like that sometimes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo David's powers are a bit more all-encompassing than in the comics, I want to play around with what ~knowledge~ actually entails  
> warnings: violence, mentions of torture, characters being reckless with their own physical well-being for the sake of the greater good (the greater good)

David calls Kate the day Nick Fury dies. 

Kate's already in DC, is the thing. 

She and Fury haven't exactly been pals the past year or so, no, and the fact that he is who he is and he did what he did to her team has sort of put a damper on Kate's relationships with House Barton since she returned from LA to find Clint mostly living on the farm, but he's still—he's still Nick. He's still someone who was influential in Kate's life and who is important to people Kate loves. Trying to figure out what happened to him is sort of...the very least she can do.  

And maybe it's irony, maybe it's poetic justice, maybe it's just bullshit, but Nick getting gunned down—but Nick being hunted fills her with _fury_ , from her fingertips to her toes.  

And it's thrown off how she thinks of the Bartons. Double C, Dublin, L. Clint and Cooper and Nick and Natasha and Laura. She never got how that relationship worked but it _did_ and oh god. 

She's going to _miss_ the one-eyed bastard.  

* * *

 

David finds her standing in front of the Howling Commandos display.  

“Predictable,” he mutters from behind her. 

She shrugs, still facing forward. She probably is predictable. “I always wanted to try a bowler, you know?” 

David snorts, probably shakes his head as they wait for a group to clear out of the area. 

She stares at Dum Dum Dugan’s old uniform, and for once, her mind is perfectly, peacefully blank. 

“So,” he breaks the calm, moving next to her and pretending to read the placard. “Lunch tomorrow?” 

* * *

Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov go AWOL.  

Rogers, she gets. According to the very classified dossier she is under no circumstances supposed to be reading, Fury was gunned down in Rogers' apartment. It doesn't matter how unlikely it would be for The Star Spangled Man with a Plan to kill Fury, it still looks bad. 

Steve Rogers isn't her problem; it's Natasha running that scares Kate more. Natasha doesn't run, literally or figuratively. She fucking hates running.  

Kate swallows convulsively as she remembers fighting back to back with Steve Rogers, of Steve Rogers shoving agents out of the way when she needed to speak to Loki. God, when did she get _invested_ in this asshole? And if Natasha is letting him run _with_ her-- 

Kate doesn't always have the best instincts about people or aliens, but Natasha does.  

“It’s not technically AWOL,” David informs her as she shoves a forkful of pasta in her mouth. “They’re fugitives.” 

“AWOL sounds better,” Kate swallows and shrugs. “DC is nice this time of year. Maybe they just really wanted to use their vacation time.”  

David fiddles with a straw wrapper. “I need a favor.” 

“You know, I kind of got that,” she tries to smile and fails. “What with the _get to DC as fast as possible_ thing.” 

The eyeroll she’s hoping for doesn’t happen; instead, David slides a manila folder towards her.  

“Don’t open it here. It’s a SHIELD badge. I got you a job.” 

“I have a job. You know, the whole P.I. thing. I’m even branching out to skiptracing, so unless—" 

“Hawkeye. Captain America and Black Widow have been declared fugitives. Some guy with a metal arm was shooting up the streets. Sitwell is dead. Nick Fury is _dead_. A lot of my coworkers are normal people.” He meets her gaze, holds it like a steel trap. “If shit goes down, they aren’t like me, or you. I’d feel more comfortable with you there until I can figure out what’s going on.” 

"Sitwell is dead?" This is news to Kate. She can't say that it's unhappy news. 

"Yeah. The guy with the metal arm—Sitwell was one of the guys he killed on the highway." 

“So,” Kate squints at the sun. Sighs, because he’s right. “Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You want me to infiltrate SHIELD? Because…your gut is telling you something is wrong.” 

His eye twitches. “That’s about the shape of it.” 

"This is above my pay grade." 

"SHIELD doesn't pay you any more. Everything is above your pay grade." 

“How am I supposed to sneak a bow in?” 

“Please,” he rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like that’s the only weapon you can use.” 

Kate gives him a pointed stare. 

“And I already have one stashed for you at my desk.” 

She doesn’t realize she’s grinning at him until her cheeks start to hurt. 

“So what do you know?” She tries to swallow her smile and manages to succeed. 

He shifts in his seat. “Nothing. That's not how it works.” 

Kate just stares at him. She _knows_ that. She also knows— 

“Covert communications. Different chains of command than what are actually in place. I’ve been trying—listening—but—“ he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “But we’re _supposed_ to know spy stuff. And it looks suspicious if I start hanging around places above my clearance level.” 

“But you’ve done it.” Not a question, she knows him well enough. 

“It’s just—maybe they’re just World War Two buffs. I don’t know—" his eyes catch something over her shoulder, dropping down to her plate. “But if they don’t want to see the ruby slippers I guess that’s just that.” 

“Alleyne, right?” a deep voice comes from over her shoulder. Kate shields her eyes from the sun to try and look at him. Burly, scruffy, dark clothes meant for ease of movement and hiding. The kind of man who makes her fingers twitch for her staves and there's something familiar, in his jaw maybe, that she should recognize but doesn’t. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” David sits a little straighter, tilting his head and squinting his eyes at the newcomer. “Sorry, I can’t remember your name? You know us computer geeks. Never make it much higher than the sublevel.” 

“Rumlow,” the man says with a nod, examining David. “Thought I saw you out of the sublevel the other day.” 

Fuck. Rumlow, _fuck_. Never met him officially, just heard his name. Him and his abs, Tommy had a huge crush on Rumlow for a while and Kate knew he and Jack Rollins had palled around, and _Christ_ she still hates Rollins. Maybe it wasn't his fault that he'd been the one to teach her advanced interrogation noncompliance. You're probably supposed to hate the person who teaches you that, he'd just seemed to take so much _joy_ in building up her endurance. 

“Oh, you know,” David shrugs, snapping Kate's attention back to what's happening now, and not what happened in some dank SHIELD-satellite basement years ago. “Some of the more senior agents in acquisitions like to download spammy e-mail attachments.” 

Rumlow doesn’t quite look convinced, but convinced enough, and his eyes slide over to Kate. “Who’s your friend?” 

“Katie Bishop,” Kate reaches her hand up, smiling at him, making a point to let her eyes drift from his face to his arms to his chest. “I’m an old friend of David’s.” 

Rumlow squeezes her hand and it’s a battle to not squeeze back in a show of dominance. 

“Katie Bishop,” he smiles at her. “I feel like I’ve heard that name before?” 

_Probably,_ she thinks. “I still haven’t heard yours,” she smiles bigger and fights the urge to stand so that he isn’t _looming_ over her quite so much. 

“Brock. Brock Rumlow.” 

“Sorry, David, I think I had lunch with the wrong G-man,” she shoots Brock a coy smile. It feels like she’s laying it on a bit thick, but Rumlow seems to buy it. 

The nervous tension in David’s jaw is lessening so it’s worth it.  

“Well, Katie. Maybe in a couple days you can have lunch with the right G-man?” 

“Couple days? Seems like a long time to wait.” 

“Well,” Rumlow shrugs, “maybe we’ll tie up this whole fugitive situation tomorrow and I’ll take you to dinner.” 

“Confidence. I like that,” Kate smiles, handing him her phone. “Give me your number?” 

He taps it in and hands it back to her, lips curling up. “Katie. Good to meet you. Alleyne. You and I should talk.” 

“Yes sir, absolutely,” David grins, offering an awkward half-wave. 

“See ya!” Kate tightens her jaw to keep the smile on until David’s shoulders sag and Rumlow presumably disappears. She refuses to look over her shoulder to check. “C’mon. Up, up,” she tosses a handful of bills on the table, grabbing his elbow and hauling him into the restaurant, through the kitchen and to the back alley by the dumpsters. 

She props David against the brick wall, angling her body so that she’s half-blocking him but can still see the door to the kitchen and the mouth of the alley. 

“Tell me. Prodigy, talk.” 

“There’s a—there’s—" his eyes are wide, staring at knowledge and information only he can see. “He doesn’t know details, he’s—there’s research he knows exists—but there’s—" 

“Talk it out, Prodigy,” she lets her hand find his, supporting him, _I’m here, I’ve got you_. 

“SHIELD has a machine that brainwashes people,” he says, shaking so hard she can see it. “And he knows how to use it. The asset—that guy on the bridge—Rumlow knows his weaknesses, his history—his—" 

"Wow, he knows a lot about torture," David squeezes her hand, grinding the bones together in a way that has her wincing. “It’s gone. Sorry.” 

“David, do you know who that guy is? The—man on the bridge?” She’s not going to call him _the asset_ , Jesus, he’s a person. 

“No—maybe. I feel like I should. Not Rumlow, but _me_. _I_ should know him.” David shakes his head, eyes narrowing as he focuses in on her. “There’s something else. That man—he’s not the only one they use that machine on. I don’t think. There’s other people—they brainwash people.” 

He looks like all the blood has rushed from his face. 

“David. This is why you called me, remember? We’re going to—whatever happens, we’re going to help. That’s what we do. It’s our job.” 

"You get paid for jobs," he points out, echoing her earlier sentiment. "Nobody's paying us for this." 

"It's our calling, then. It's what we do." 

“Yeah.” A deep shaky breath. “Yeah.” His voice is stronger now. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” A weak laugh as he shakes his head. 

“What else?” 

Another head shake. “Combat, weapons training. Standard stuff, no red flags.” His color isn’t getting any better but he looks more focused, his gaze sharp. 

Sharp and thoughtful and familiar. 

The grin spreads unbidden across Kate’s face. “You’ve got a plan, don’t you?” 

“I haven’t seen you smile like this since the battle,” he jerks upright, pulling her into a hug. “You thrive on chaos, don’t you?” 

“Don’t be a jerk, David.” 

She lets herself be hugged. She hugs back. Emotions aren’t a crime. 

"Hey," she says, when they're done being regular people. "On the plus side, I don't know what Brock Rumlow does, but we have his fingerprints now." 

David looks from her to her phone. "Do you just keep a ziploc baggie in your purse, or-?" 

"I'm a PI. It's a tool of the trade." 

* * *

Kate hasn't been trained by spies and lived with spies and worked with spies for nothing. She makes it out of her hotel unnoticed by the two tails she's gained since landing and winds up in David's apartment.   

"Rumlow figured out who I am," she says, and David jumps about three feet into the air. 

"How the hell did you get in?" 

Kate's answer is the most derisive look she can muster. 

"Right. Mini-Natasha, you scare the hell out of me." 

"That's so sweet of you, David." 

"Seriously, though. If you got in there's a hole in my security and I need to patch it up." 

"You have a neighbor with a dog that needed to be walked and air ducts that need motion sensors." 

"I _have_ motion sensors." 

"Nope." 

They stare at each other for a moment.  

" _Shit_ ," they say in tandem.  

It's the last thing they say for a few hours as David does his tech thing, something that involves tinfoil and a steak knife and the microwave and what looks like a few close brushes with electrocution. Finally, the hunk of wires and metal hums on his kitchen table and David pulls out his phone before nodding at her. "We're good." 

"That's just so untrue I don't even know what to say." 

David stares at his homemade bug baffler and shakes his head. "You should have come here under a different name." 

"You think they wouldn't have known I was here the second I landed? You're not that naïve." 

"Why do you think Rumlow figured out who you are?" 

She laughs. "Because I just had one babysitter when I got here, and tonight I had two." 

"There's no way they don't figure out you're here." David sighs as he stands, squeezing her shoulder as he moves farther into his home. When he comes back he puts a gun in her hand. "It's going to be a long night." 

"You know I don't want this." 

"Tough," he sits himself down and opens his laptop.  

They work in silence for almost an hour, Kate going through yoga poses, David checking her credentials for flaws. It might not matter, but if it does, it's better to be prepared. 

“You know we might die, right?” David looks up from his computer. “We might get killed.” 

“Yup.” 

“Yup?” 

“Yes, I know that I might die. Do you know that you might die?” 

“I sure do.” 

“Then I think we’re ready.” 

Some traditions are weird, but that doesn’t stop you from doing them. 

* * *

Kate and David share the bed, back to back. She's slipped a knife between the mattress and box springs.   

It's calming in a way, reminiscent of the mission in Laos and the one in Vancouver. Those hadn't gone well, exactly, but they'd all lived through them. 

"Reminds me of Phonsavan," David mumbles, sounding half asleep. 

Kate laughs. "I was just thinking the same thing."  

David elbows her gently. "Get some rest, Hawkeye." 

"Wake me up for the next watch." 

* * *

Kate is getting ready at David’s for the first day of her new fake job when her phone trills, the noise jangling her nerves.  

“Hello?” 

“Katherine.” 

Kate straightens her spine, head up, shoulders back, the movement instinctive—out of the corner of her eye, she can see David smirk. “Yes, sir?” 

“You’re in D.C.?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Good. I want you to listen to me, now. Steve Rogers might not know it, but he could use your help.” 

“I don’t think he’s going to ask for our—" 

“Well, of course he ain’t gonna _ask_ for it, girl! I just told you he might not know he needs your help.” 

“Right, I mean, yes—" 

“I know you don’t like him much, but I know you like SHIELD even less. Whatever you and whoever you’ve got with you are planning for the next few days, remember to help him. Your team knows how to work in shadows, so do it. That boy knows what he’s about, Hawkeye. You help him the best you can. Trust Cap.” 

Kate closes her eyes. “Yes, Cap.” 

“And I don’t just mean me. He’s Cap, too. And don’t you roll your eyes at me. He _is_. He might not have earned your respect, but he will. And I need you to give him that chance. I need you to help him.” 

“We’ll do our best.” 

“Your best is enough, Hawkeye.” 

A deep breath in, and out. _Our best is enough._  

“Will do. Stay safe, Cap.” 

He laughs before hanging up, which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. 

And David’s still smirking. 

“What?” she snaps. 

“Kate,” he resumes putting on his tie. “I can count on one hand the number of people you willingly call sir. I can use the same hand to count how many people you take orders from, no debate, no backtalk, and I’d still have a finger left. I’ve seen you tell senators to go screw themselves, senior agents to blow it out their ear. You can say no in twenty different languages, and if Cap gives you orders? You just take them. It’s funny, is all.” 

“Why is that funny?” 

“Just is, Hawkeye. Used to piss Eli off that you’d take orders from his grandfather, not him.” 

“Well, no offense to Eli but his grandfather is Captain America. So, like, what? Am I supposed to be an asshole to _Captain America?_ ” 

“It’s funny because you don’t feel that way about Steve Rogers.” 

“Well, I was just told to stow the attitude about Rogers. So. Let’s go help Cap,” she doesn’t quite like the way saying that feels. “Captain’s orders.” 

* * *

Kate imagines she would have had a boring first fake day at her pretend job.  

 

She only gets to imagine it. It was a nice fantasy. 

She and David decided not to travel together for safety reasons, which is a good strategic move. 

It just means that there's nobody there when she gets jumped by a STRIKE team and black-bagged. 

* * *

"Still haven't gotten a new dryer, I see," Kate says when she is no longer gagged. Her head is still covered and her hands are cuffed to the table, but she kept track as they drove and noted the distinct speed bump of the Triskelion's lower-level parking garage.   

Kate is willing to mark this as a win, since she wound up where she's supposed to be. 

"What the hell--" a voice starts, only to be cut off by a gruff and familiar "Don't encourage her." 

Kate would be able to pick Jack Rollins out of anyplace, given close enough proximity to him.  

Not just the combination of cheap cigarettes and cheaper coffee; there's always a slightly overcooked smell that lingers, just faintly, around him. It's the heating element in his dryer, Kate's fairly sure, but he never cared, and clearly still doesn't.  

Everything about Jack Rollins is irritating, down to his smell and the way he shuffles around on tile floors. 

"What's that limp about, Jackie?" 

"Captain America resisted arrest. Wouldn't come in to be questioned about Fury's death. Seems suspicious, doesn't it?"  

Kate snorts. "I wouldn't come in to be questioned by you. Not willingly." 

"Well. Cap put up a better fight than you did. He managed to avoid it." Rollins yanks the hood off of her head and Kate blinks against the sudden onslaught of light. "So, why are you here?" 

"Oh, Jack. Really? You think I'm gonna give up all my secrets just like that? We know each other better." 

"You're right," Jack gives her a smile that could probably make hearts go pitter-patter if they didn't actually know the man. "That's disrespectful of me." 

"I'd like you to tell me what you're doing in DC." He smiles _that_ smile, the one that haunts her dreams on the rare occasion her other nightmares get usurped by a less horrifying one, and then he reaches across the table and breaks one of her fingers. 

Kate grits her teeth and swallows back her cry of pain. It's a passive opening gambit and it makes her think he's got no idea why she's here, or that she actually _wanted_ to be at SHIELD this morning. 

All she's got to do is get out of this room. 

* * *

"Good to see that still works."  

"What?" Kate takes her seat next to David, shifting uncomfortably. Her sides ache, something she doesn't remember feeling when she let David's this morning. 

"Calling in as Ross for a spot-check. Still works to shake Delta up."  

Kate shakes her head, wincing slightly. "That explains why they kicked me out so fast. I was expecting more than a broken finger." 

David reaches for her hand and she gives it to him, letting him tape her fingers together. 

"This is the last time I reset a bone," he mutters, eyes darting to hers. "What happened? You're blocking something." 

"Get out of my head." 

"It's cute that you think that I _want_ to be in there. You're blocking." 

"I'm not--" Kate presses her hand to her side and her mind skitters around something unpleasant, the shape of a fist, a snap of electricity, and pain bites through her abdomen. "Nope, nope, that's gotta stay blocked until this is over."  

David nods at her, wide-eyed. "Good idea." He finishes taping her fingers together. "Fuck Rollins, man." 

* * *

It’s dull at SHIELD after the initial excitement of being kidnapped and released. Boring day, boring office. SHIELD is a lot more normal than most people realize. Secretaries and copiers and bad coffee—it's not all advanced interrogation and Avengers. 

_Project Insight_ is the buzzword of the day. Launching three helicarriers is a huge deal, but there's an undercurrent of something, not just excitement. It's nerves and anticipation. David gets them into the launch room, frown creasing his forehead. Something that is wrong, knowledge someone has about the project that is incorrect— 

But if it bothers David, that’s proof enough for Kate that something is wrong, even if she hadn't felt something amiss herself.  

“Hawkeye—those ships—" he looks like he wants to throw up. “They aren’t—it’s not protection. They’re set to kill people like—people like us. People who would oppose—" he hesitates. Kate can see it, the way he turns the word over in his head, unsure. 

“Who? Prodigy, who?” Her hand digs into David's arm, her nails biting into his skin.  

“Hydra.” 

They’re a handful of minutes from putting death machines—cities?—into the sky and fucking _Hydra_. Kate doesn’t ask if he’s kidding, or sure. The word is certain. Final. He knows. And he _knows._  

“They’re set to kill as soon as they reach a certain altitude. Not just the _ability_ to do it, Hawkeye, those things get up there, and we’re dead. Thousands— _millions_ of people.” 

Kate closes her eyes. The rage gets shoved down for later. Hydra. _Hydra tried to kill us._ One breath, the seconds tick by, a calm coming over her, a strategy clicking into place. 

“I guess we know what we have to do,” she says. 

She looks at David, and he nods.  

And then Steve Rogers blows the lid off the whole thing. 

 

His voice is different than she remembers—deeper, somehow, and strained. She wonders what he's done since New York, and wonders if any of them will be alive to do things after this.  

_Trust Cap._  

Kate looks at the schematics for the helicarriers and thinks that they'll all probably be dead in ten minutes.  

_It's a_ _price I'm willing to pay._

David side-eyes her. "Better make it a good ten minutes, then." 

That's when Kate spots her. 

_Martinelli._  

Why the _hell_ is Agent Thirteen here? 

Please, don't let her be an evil douche. 

* * *

 

Phil Coulson--and, by extension, Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill--had been worried about Kate’s ability--or inability--to work with people other than her team. 

Looking back, Kate can see that she was being pretty thoroughly groomed to be a SHIELD agent, eventually taking Clint’s spot on Strike Team Delta. And it had come up, that wild-west outlaw mentality. This concern that she wouldn’t work well with others. A few drills, here and there, where she didn’t take orders. 

Natasha, and Kate’s team, didn’t count; her team because she led them, Natasha because Kate is Hawkeye, and apparently a Hawkeye working well with Natasha Romanov isn’t that exciting. 

Whatever. 

So she’d gotten trained by Bobbi Morse, did a few training exercises with her, only apparently that didn’t count either because they both have bird codenames.  

Looking back, Kate wonders who cosigned that bullshit. 

But Bobbi had gotten called up for a deep cover mission, Kate had been paired with Agent Thirteen. 

At which point Phil had realized that it was more about respect than not wanting to follow orders. 

* * *

Kate is reaching for her bow, still deciding who to aim at, when Sharon says it. 

“Captain’s orders.” 

And someone, somewhere, is fucking with Kate, but the bow is in her hand and the arrow nocked and drawn before she can debate the matter with herself. 

Rumlow is taking in the room, the threats—he catches her eye. 

"We still on for that date, Hawkeye?" 

"Go fuck yourself, Nazi." 

"Hydra," he corrects her.  

"God _damn_ ," David mutters from where he's crouched by Kate's knee. "Is he really arguing this with you?" 

Kate keeps her eyes trained on Rumlow, on Thirteen's gun aimed at his head. 

Sharon doesn’t look at Kate but offers a quick drop of her left shoulder, telling Kate what she needs to know. 

_I’ve got this asshole,_ she’s saying. _Pick a different one._  

* * *

The launch isn’t stopped and the console room is in chaos when Rumlow bolts out the door. 

“Thirteen, I’m in pursuit!” Kate hollers, taking off after him. 

“Hold, Hawkeye!” 

Kate’s muscles freeze before she tells them to. 

“Rumlow isn’t our primary objective—" someone—presumably Hydra—aims their gun at Thirteen, and gets an arrow in the eye for their trouble. 

Sharon barely blinks. “ _They_ are.” 

Right. 

Agency full of Hydra. 

Sharon inclines her head to the bullet graze on Kate’s thigh. “You good?” 

“Ready and able, Agent.” Kate’s grin is probably a little feral, which is why Sharon responds with, 

“Save it for Hydra, Hawkeye.” 

"They're putting us into lockdown," David skids next to Kate and Thirteen, his high-tech computer goggles and his hacker gloves on, letting him see into the inner workings of SHIELD's servers.  

"Can you undo that?" Thirteen does a double take. 

"I gotta be in the control room so they can't keep locking it." He gazes at Kate. "You and me, Hawkeye?" 

"Let's rock and roll." 

* * *

"They know we're coming," David informs her. 

"Of course they do. You don't get to be on Strike Team Delta by not paying attention." 

"They've killed the lights, which is going to work to our advantage." David slides a pair of sunglasses on her face, adjusting the stems. “I borrowed these from R&D and did some upgrades,” he informs Kate. “Night vision with smart-switch, so if someone flips on the lights it won’t be as much of an adjustment. Get it?” 

“Got it.” She holds both of her batons in one hand. 

“Good.” David boosts her into the ceiling and Kate crawls in the vents until she’s over the next room.  

“Knock, knock,” she mouths to herself before dropping into the middle of the room, surrounded by what’s left of Delta. The lights go off before her feet hit the floor, giving her just enough time to see who is where. “Morning, Jack,” she whispers to Rollins, tasing him with one of her batons. 

A backhanded swing cracks into someone’s shins and the forward swing clips the back of someone’s head. Two down, three to go— 

One of them grabs her from behind, getting her into a chokehold, which is when David hits the lights. A few seconds where the Strike team has to rip off night vision goggles is all she needs to break the hold on her and jam an elbow into his solar plexus. 

By that time, David has come in to lend a hand, using Kate’s spare batons to whack on a guy, sending him facefirst into a gun safe. 

The last guy gets lucky.  

He ducks behind an upended desk and starts _shooting_ at them. A bullet grazes Kate’s upper arm before David grabs her by the waist and throws her to the ground.  

“You’re _shot_!” David feels the need to inform her. 

“Barely,” Kate scoffs, then grimaces. “How does this dude get to carry a gun while being such a bad shot? Do you remember all the paperwork we had to sign because Speed couldn’t ever pass the test? The _one_ time I had to use a firearm on a mission and I got my ass handed to me by Sitwell because—“ 

The next bullet grazes David's ear.  

"Dude, what the _hell?"_  

"Ridiculous," Kate snaps as David hands her a bow and an arrow. "What kind of shoddy standards is SHIELD even enforcing--" she ducks around the corner and releases the arrow. 

The shooting stops.  

Kate rises and makes quick work of disarming the men and she drags them out into the hall while David unlocks SHIELD so that people can get the hell out. 

She drags every piece of moveable furniture in front of the door. 

"Why," David says in a ridiculously calm voice, "did you just trap us in here?" 

"We're not going out," she rolls her eyes at him. "We're going up." 

* * *

David is not a fan of air ducts. He never has been. 

 

Kate loves them. There's a comfort in the closeness, in the slick feel of metal under the heel of her hand. The comfort in the ceilings of SHIELD has fled, beaten away by the aches thrumming through her muscles and David's grumbling behind her as he tries to focus on what his eyewear tells him without running into her. 

He's not successful. 

"Here," he tells her. 

"Here? This is the cafeteria." 

"There's a bunch of scared people in there," he taps his frames to shut down the interface in his glasses so he can focus on Kate. "Cap and Thirteen can deal with their own shit. We're here for the regular people." 

He's right. Damnit. Kate sighs and crouches, prying up the corner of a panel with the knife she stole from Rollins. She'll cherish it always until she drives it through the man's skull. 

"Okay," Kate sighs. "I feel like I should have something witty to say before I do this." Any attempt she would have made is interrupted by a loud _boom_ and the building rattling. "That's not good." 

"Oh my God. Just _go_." 

* * *

Prodigy has been giving Kate a countdown in the moments where they’re next to each other, as he weeds Hydra agents out of the SHIELD agents they’re evacuating. He's bleeding from his leg; Kate doesn't know when that happened but he's leaving a red trail everywhere he goes-- 

He pulls her to a stop. “Ten seconds.” 

_I know we might die._   

Nine seconds. 

_I think we’re ready._   

Eight seconds is more than enough. More than nothing. 

“Prodigy,” she clasps his shoulder, looking him square in the eye. “It’s been an honor.” 

* * *

They don’t die. 

Captain America saves them, apparently. 

 

 

And then David’s eyes go wide as helicarriers start crashing into the Triskelion. 

"Time to rescue us," he says, taking a step and collapsing, because of course he does. 

"Time for _me_ to rescue _you_ ," Kate mutters, yanking out her scarf and wrapping it around his leg, tying it as tight as she can. Everybody always mocks the accessories until they save your life; she's expecting to never get flak about the scarves ever again. 

Kate half-carries him to the SHIELD test garage, taking most of his weight as the white of her scarf turns red around his knee.  

Brock Rumlow's fingerprint finally comes in handy, getting them easy access to the garage. Kate isn't sure David could hack at this point; she's having doubts about his thought process in general as he staggers towards a motorcycle, swinging his injured leg across it. 

“Drive!" He snaps at her as best he can. "Something else is going on!” 

She tosses him a helmet. “Never figured you as a motorcycle guy—" 

“It flies. Now _drive_.” 

He directs her along to the river, which is when the flying/hovering motorcycle thing becomes handy, carrying them above the brush and mud. 

Allowing them to pay less attention to _where_ they’re driving and more attention to what’s going on around them. 

Allowing Kate to see a disc drop from the dying helicarrier and into the river. 

And then a body. 

And then… 

Another body. 

Well. 

That’s never a good sign.  

David is off of the bike, throwing himself into the underbrush, making a horrifying racket as he scrambles towards the water’s edge, probably thinking all sorts of things about blood loss and drowning, either not realizing or not caring that one of those figures had a metal arm, not realizing or caring about his _own_ blood loss.  

“Prodigy!” she catches up to him grabbing his arm, redirecting his momentum to swing him around towards her. “We need to be careful—" 

His eyes are wide— 

Kate has only seen him look like this a handful of times. Someone’s mind—their knowledge, whatever—is so different or terrifying, and he is just tired enough that he can’t keep the lines straight in his head. That the difference between what _he_ knows and what _they_ know is indiscernible. He's looked at _her_ like that before, when she was learning how to-- 

_No_ , she tells herself, pushing back the pain of her finger and burning side. _Not now_. 

His eyes are hollow and he's lost to the world around him, heedless of danger and Hydra and underbrush. “Prodigy!” she puts her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. “Stay with me, okay? I need _you_ _r_ brain.” 

He shakes his head. “There’s someone—hang on, let me—" he takes a few shaky steps back and slides down a tree trunk, putting his head between his knees. This is a good position for him. He probably should have been in this position twenty minutes ago. 

There’s the sound, however faint, of someone making their way through the brush towards them, and without warning, metal-arm man is upon them. Kate’s got the arrow knocked and loosed before conscious decision even happens. 

The man catches the arrow with his metal hand, staring at her, at the way she moves to block David. Staring, staring—she can see the moment his brain shifts them from _potential threat_ to _not a threat_. A subtle shift in his shoulders, the way his head drops. 

He’s dripping, his non-metal arm held to his side. Injured, perhaps. 

“Back there,” he jerks his head towards the river bank. “There’s—someone needs help.” 

“Let him go, Hawkeye,” David tells her. “He’s not—" David sucks in air. “If you need—if you want help. We can. For you, too.” 

The man with the metal arm—and she knows him, _how_  does she know him? How?--stares at David until an explosion from the river knocks him out of his reverie. Kate blinks and he’s gone. 

“What the hell was that?” Kate crouches by David, a hand at the back of his neck, wordlessly urging him to stay down. 

“The things he knows—his _mind—_ it’s—it was like looking at a patchwork quilt full of holes.” 

“How poetic.” She hands David the knife. “You’re staying here.” 

He glances down to his leg, bleeding all over the place, and nods. 

“Guard the bike,” she says. “I think that was Captain Rogers who fell into the river and I’m pretty sure I can’t carry him.” 

Kate starts walking and realizes the guy with the metal arm took her arrow with him. She starts walking again and freezes after two steps. 

Can hear David's sharp inhale as he sees, or feels, or whatevers, the knowledge click into place.  

This is one of those times when his knowledge mind-meld power is welcome, because he _knows_ what she knows, and he's followed her thought process and can tell her if she's reached a logical conclusion.  

"Bucky Barnes?" she asks.  

"Yeah, I think so," he calls back.   

There's honestly no way to verbalize the exhausted and all-encompassing _what the fuck_ she feels in every cell of her body.  

 

Captain Steve Rogers is soaked, which is understandable since he's half in the river and half out of it. His uniform looks a lot more like the one from old newsreels and the Smithsonian exhibit than the uniform she remembers from New York; he also happens to be full of bullets. Instinct tells her to call 911; common sense is just yelling  _Hydra! Hydra!_ _burning_ _bright!_ _in_ _the forests of the night!_ in the back of her head, and yeah, her nerves are a little fried. 

Kate drops to her knees next to him, her fingers fumbling at his neck. She can’t find a pulse, but her hands are shaking a lot, so maybe that’s not surprising.  

There’s a weird noise from the river and a giant bubble rises a good way from the shore. The bubble breaks, sending waves to the bank.  

It happens one more time before Kate decides that her feet getting wet means they’re too close to the water.  

She loops both of her hands through the leather straps that go over the Captain’s shoulders, plants her feet, and _heaves_. 

Rogers moves about three inches.  

“ _Shit_ , dude, you’re heavy,” Kate pants. She adjusts her stance, adjusts her grip, and pulls, this time with a grunt.  

Grunting helps. It’s science, because he moves almost three times as far. She reaches for Rogers again and winds up doubled over as pain lances through her. It takes a moment for Kate to control her breath and her body, to wrap her shaking hands around the harness again. 

“Your shield fell in the river,” Kate informs him before giving another pull. “Natasha is scuba certified. Make her go get it for you.” Another heave. The wound from the bullet graze is starting to bleed again and her broken finger starts to throb. “I’ll call her and tell her to get it for you.” Another yank. Almost halfway to the tree line. “Really getting sick of covering your ass, guy.” Just a little further. “I guess I should just be glad you didn’t fall on me this time.” 

There’s another of those odd noises and large bubbles, but Steve and Kate are far enough back from the riverbank to be unaffected by the water. 

Kate realizes that the explosions are coming from the sunken helicarriers. She wonders what kinds of weapons are on them and how explosive they are before her brain goes _hey, let’s not think about that_ and promptly shuts off.  

_One_ _more, almost done_ , a final pull and something breaks in Kate as she collapses on to Steve, her body screaming in pain from punches and bullet wounds and a few knives and Rollins punching her where nobody could see, and his favorite, a lightning kiss, low-voltage electrical burns, _just a gift from me to you, remember to keep your nose clean_. She hopes he's dying in the rubble of the Triskelion, and that's not something she wishes for anyone. 

She pants, trying to pull herself together enough to get to her feet instead of using a dying supersoldier as a mattress.  

Three breaths.  

One. _Pain_. Blood oozing from her arm, finger throbbing, everything between her hips and her breasts screaming at her.  

Two. _Rollins_. She's going to kill him if he's not dead already. Kate squeezes her eyes shut against the memory of him punching her stomach, this morning, so many times, really. Does he like hurting everyone, or just her in particular? It takes a certain kind for advanced interrogation, even more when it's done with the end to train someone how to withstand it. _Burn in hell, Rollins, if you're not there I'll make sure to send you myself._  

Three. _Life_. She's alive. David is alive. Lots of people are alive because of them. Maybe Steve Rogers will stay alive because of her. She knows she's alive because everything hurts. 

Kate rises and her stomach roils but she steadies herself and tries to figure out what to do with a mountain of supersoldier.  

There’s a loud rustling behind her, twigs cracking. The arrow is in her hand and drawn as another man barrels through the brush, this one not anyone Kate knows; panting, bloody and covered in soot. 

“Whoa!” he shouts, hands up. “I’m—are you trying to kill Cap?” 

Kate can’t help the automatic snort. “Yeah, I just dragged six tons of muscle away from the river to make killing him easier. Are you here to kill him?” 

“Uh.” His eyes are staring at the arrow. “Are you some sort of Hawkeye fan?” 

Kate hopes her gaze effectively says _I_ _will_ _kill_ _you_ to this joker. 

“Wait,” he says. “Uh. _Are_ you Hawkeye? She’s glaring at me,” he hisses. “What do I do?” 

“Natasha?” Kate doesn’t lower her bow, but thinks about it. 

“Yeah,” he nods, looking relieved. “Yeah. She’s—" he gestures towards his ear. “Bishop?” 

“Jesus Christ, Natasha, some of us like secret identities,” she snaps. “Who are you, anyway?” 

“The Falcon?” 

Kate finds a smile somewhere, lowers her bow. “Get rid of the question mark.” 

“I’m the Falcon.” 

“Hawkeye,” she says with a nod. “Not to be rude, but I don’t have any medical expertise, and I’ve got shit to do. Is help on the way?”  

The Falcon looks from her to Rogers, to her bow, to her bleeding arm, back to her leg in the span of seconds. 

“I just wanna help Cap,” he holds his hands up, approaching them slowly. 

“Don’t we all,” Kate snorts, stepping aside. “Prodigy?” she raises her voice enough to carry. “This guy good?” 

A pause, then, “Yeah.”  

Kate lowers her bow. “I don’t know if you want to move him,” she swings the bow across her back. “But we came in on a motorcycle that flies--?” 

“I think we’re gonna wait for the chopper,” Falcon says, eyes narrowing as he takes Cap’s vitals.  

“Damn it. We need that here five minutes ago, Natasha.” 

"Are you sure you don’t—" 

“I don’t want to move him without proper support, I’m not just going to throw him over a motorcycle and hope for the best.” 

“Suit yourself.” Kate twirls an arrow between her fingers and paces. 

“Natasha wants me to tell you she dumped all of SHIELD’s secrets on to the internet.” 

“Shit.” David and Clint and Eli and--shit. _Shit_. “Do you need me? Cause if not I got places to be.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“His shield fell into the river,” Kate says, then holds the arrow out to the Falcon. “Give this to the Captain, would you? Tell him,” she hesitates then, the first time all day. “Tell him we’ll help.” 

“Uh-uh, and who’s we?”

“I hear he’s a smart man,” Kate kneels and touches Steve Rogers' shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out. Rogers,” she squeezes his shoulder. “We really need to have a talk about your self-preservation instinct.” She looks at the Falcon, her eyes boring into his. "I'm trusting you to take care of him." 

He seems to understand something, then, the Falcon. Or maybe Natasha is still talking to him. Either way, he nods. "He's safe with me." 

* * *

Kate and David are halfway to New York when Clint calls her, tells her he’s at the farm, which is good, the thought of Clint being alone right now hasn’t exactly been comforting.  

A lump rises in Kate's throat and it takes her a moment to realize it's because of stupid Nick. 

But Natasha is okay, the Falcon guy was talking to her-- 

Kate realizes she's hyperventilating.  

"Kate?" David's voice seems like it's coming from miles away. 

"I'm fine," she grits through her teeth. She visualizes a target, sighting down an arrow. 

For some reason, the target is red, white, and blue.   

Kate doesn't even have to look at David to know he is entirely unconvinced, but she focuses on her breathing, on the feel of the steering wheel solid in her hands, the burn through her muscles. She feels as much as she sees David nod his head at her before he settles back into the passenger seat. 

* * *

 They are halfway to the farm when David interrupts her driving reverie. 

“So, you know how the Black Widow dumped all of SHIELD’s files online?” 

“Do I actually want to know what you’re going to tell me?” 

“Probably not. Lots of classified addresses there.” 

“ _Lots of_ meaning—?" 

“Not us. Or that weird bird commune we’re driving to. But. Well, you know SHIELD kept tabs on Cap?” 

“Brilliant,” Kate pinches the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Probably not the best choice; David shrieks and makes a grab for the wheel. “Fab.” 

“I’ve already got us on a puddle jumper flight tomorrow morning at seven,” he ignores her. “That gets us to Columbus, and then I’ve got you as a flight attendant and me as Executive chef on one of Stark’s corporate jets that’s landing in—" 

“Excuse me, no.” 

“Yes. It’s the fastest way.” 

"I hate you so much.” 

“There will be a car waiting for us. One we didn’t steal.” 

"I didn't steal this car," Kate gripes. "I _commandeered_ it.”  

“Sure, Hawkeye." He takes a deep breath. “There’s a lot of shit that SHIELD’s been hiding. Some of it might be bad, but—" 

“You may as well look. Everyone else is, and you’re probably faster than they are.” 

A sigh. Relief? “Copy that.” 

“Go back to sleep, Prodigy. You’ll find more if you aren’t exhausted.” 

“Aye, aye, Cap'n.”

"Don't try to sweet-talk me." 

* * *

“Ah ah ah,” Laura’s voice stops Kate in her tracks before she even makes it past the door jamb, David running in to her. “Wipe your feet.” 

“W- _what_?” Kate stares at her shoes. They appear perfectly fine. And sure, Laura can’t actually see her—where is she, anyway? But she has this _way._  

“I don’t want you dragging any of that SHIELD crap into my home,” her wagging finger comes around the corner first, then belly, then face. Kate is not sure if this qualifies as hugely pregnant yet but she’s pretty big. 

“I would never!” 

“Hmm,” Laura crosses her arms, eyes taking in all of Kate—all blood and bruises and ash—hell, Kate would believe Laura could guess how many hours of sleep she’s gotten in the past three days and how many real meals, and how many hours she’s going to stay here before moving on. 

“You look hungry,” she says. “And tired. Are you here long?”

It’s almost not even impressive any more. Clint is the least perceptive person in this family, and that's a stone-cold fact.  

“She’d better not be,” Barney declares from the top of the stairs, towel draped over his shoulder. "She hasn't been cleared to be here." 

“Barney Barton,” Laura snaps before Kate can even work up the energy to be offended. “Who’s house is this? Who owns this land?” 

Barney raises his eyes to the ceiling and scratches his nose. 

“Well,” he says after a moment. “That would be you.” 

“So if I would like to offer my friend Kate a room for the night--?” 

“I would recommend you still make her give up all weapons and issue her credentials. And then I'd go tell Clint to make up a bed for her.” 

“Good man. David, you look dead on your feet. Sit down on the couch, Barney should be done in the bathroom soon, and it’s yours.” 

“Mmkay,” David mumbles, disappearing into the sitting room. 

 "Clint!” Barney yells, disappearing down the hall. “We’re officially outnumbered!” 

  _No we're not_ comes the reply, faint from down the hall.

“Nat just flew in. She stole a quinjet,” Laura says by way of explanation, then pats her belly. “Baby Barton is a girl.” 

“You’re going to name her after me, right?” Kate lets Laura propel her towards the kitchen and into a chair. Laura is, on occasion, a force of nature. And it’s nice; nothing life-or-death here, to just let her take over. It’s not just a mom thing, though it’s gotten more intense since she became a mom; it’s just who she is. 

“We’re naming her after my mom, and after you Natasha gets first dibs. Sorry.” 

Laura does not sound sorry at all. 

“I buy you a farm and this is how you repay me,” Kate’s voice is distorted because her head’s somehow wound up on the table. 

“You _gave_ me a farm you bought with dirty money, Miss Thang, in return for food. It was a _gift_ , don’t think you can hold that over me.” A plate scrapes across the table, stopping next to Kate’s face. “The tomatoes are good this year.” 

“Yeah? What kind?” Not that it matters, Kate’s shoving a slice into her mouth anyway. “Is it supposed to be green?” 

“No, I painted it that way so you’d eat it.” 

Kate does not bother to look up to catch the eye-roll. 

“Your grandfather actually sent me that variety. And then he wrote a letter that I assume was an angry note about how you never visit.” 

“You didn’t read it?” 

“I tried. And then…well, a toddler lives here. It’s somewhere.” 

“Mmhm.” Kate wants to respond, but the kitchen is warm and smells like bread…or maybe pie…or caramelized onions, whatever, it smells _good_. 

“You’ll like this. Clint bought me a dwarf coffee plant! He seems to think coffee is just going to magically come from it, but I think I can use it as leverage to get them to expand the greenhouse.” 

“That’s nice,” Kate says. She’s pretty sure she says. It’s so _nice_ here. But it shouldn't be. It should be sad, this is sad, because he's _gone_ and Kate hasn't even told Laura how sorry she is-- 

“Kate, hun, do you want to crash on the other couch?” 

“’m not sleeping. ‘m resting.” 

“All right. If you’re still here tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to help me with the hives. I’m really excited about the new method for…” 

Kate dreams of honey. 

* * *

“Look at you,” Laura says as Kate emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of lemon-mint scented steam. “Like a shiny new penny.”  

Aside from the crick in her neck from sleeping on a table for two hours, Kate does feel better.  

It’s the kind of rejuvenation that only comes from washing blood and dirt off, from having clean wounds and clean bandages. 

And clean hair. 

“Did I mention thanks?” 

Laura answers with a hum. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“She can’t have it,” Clint says, passing into the kitchen. 

Laura rolls her eyes, but doesn’t respond. “Hey, c’mere,” and just like that, Kate is swept up in a Laura Hug. 

Laura Hugs are…not legendary, that’s silly. But Laura hugs like she means it, and since she’s surrounded by fairly touch-starved grown-ass adults all the time, she doesn’t screw around with it. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” she says a minute or so into holding Kate.

Kate has her hands fisted into Laura’s shirt, taking shaky breaths that don’t seem to deliver enough air to her body. She nods into Laura’s neck. _Me, too, I was worried about you_ — 

Laura is good at reading body language, so she gets it. 

"How are you doing..." Kate trails off, unsure of how to ask, if she's even allowed to ask.  

Laura's face shutters, her lips pinching. "That's classified." 

"The agency that made it classified it a burning pile of garbage in DC." 

“Come on,” she rubs Kate’s back, pulling away and ignoring her remark. “Let’s get some food in you.”

The kitchen is dim now, a few lights keeping it cozy. Clint is scooping big slices of something steaming on to two plates as Kate takes a seat next to--next to-- 

"What," Kate says, "the everloving _shit_." 

Nick Fury looks at her, unimpressed. Arm in a sling, pallor on his cheeks, but very much alive. Kate can't breathe as David moves from where he was standing by the stove to take a seat next to Kate. She can't breathe because she _mourned_ this fucking asshole, even though she hates him, and now he's here, he's home, he's with his family and _Kate can't breathe--_  

"Don't act so surprised," Fury tells her.  

Kate gapes. 

"I made a mistake," he says, and oh. She's dead, and this is the afterlife, that makes sense now.  

“Here,” Clint slides a plate in front of her. “Eat.” 

Kate stares at the food, her mind drawing a blank. She blinks over at Laura, then over to Nick. 

Clint looks at her and sighs, his shoulders dropping. “Hawkeye. Eat. Laura and Nick made it, it’s good. One bite.” 

"If I'm dead, why does it matter what I eat?" 

"Damnit, Hawkeye, eat the damn food," Nick snaps. "You're not dead. Neither of us are. Eat the food, that's an order." 

Bite. Food. Eating. She can do this. 

Her spoon slides through the dish—potatoes, meat, vegetables—shepherd’s pie. Nick Fury is a good cook, which isn't the kind of thing that most people expect from the head of a top secret government agency. This is a good dish, she’s had it before. Eating it is something she should do.  

The first morsel is almost too hot, but the flavors explode on her tongue and it’s like the first thing she’s tasted since Fury died. 

Except he's not dead.  

"You can't give me orders. I haven't worked for you in like two years," she points out between shoveling food into her mouth. 

She can’t eat fast enough. 

“There we go,” Clint leans back into one of the high-backed chairs, nodding. His turns his head towards David, and Kate can see that his plate is half-empty already. He's completely ignoring Nick, so maybe Nick is a ghost? But that doesn't make sense, does it? 

"I was mostly dead," he tells her. "It made sense to make it seem like it took." 

David is tap-tap-tapping on a tablet, managing to shovel food in and do whatever it is he’s going at the same time, not even breaking stride when Nick shoves a plate of warm rolls between them. 

Dripping with fresh butter and Laura’s honey; Kate tears one apart and shoves it into her mouth. 

Everything hits her at once; food, feeling clean, a bit of rest—boom, systems back online. 

“We're going to discuss this later," she jabs her roll in Nick's direction as he rises and exits the kitchen. "David, what are you doing?” 

“SHIELD files—making sure we’re not in there too much, and I stumbled across this thing—not sure if it’s anything, I’m just pulling the thread—" 

“If you want to destroy my sweater,” Clint sings softly from the sink. 

"Pull this thread as I walk away,” Kate joins in, and he throws a smile over his shoulder. 

They’re interrupted by David’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Fuck,” he says, then again. _“Fuck_.” 

“David? What is it?” 

He slides his tablet over to her, and it takes longer than it should for what she’s seeing to register. 

“Is this for real?” 

David’s eyes are huge as he shrugs. _Maybe?_ He seems to be saying. _Probably?_  

“He said—" Kate can barely hear her own voice over the thundering in her ears. “He _said_ —" 

“Kate?” Clint grips her shoulder, shaking her. “Who said? David, get her a—a—paper bag, or something, to breathe into.” 

“Loki said—” The world spins around her, moving too fast, too fast. 

She can’t stay here. She has to—where? Eli. She needs to talk to Eli. 

“Gotta go,” she mumbles, trying to push past Clint. 

He grabs her shoulder, gives her a shake. “Katie, I’m not letting you go anywhere like this.” 

“You can’t stop me!” she shoves at him again, past him, only to run into Fury. 

“ _I’m_ not letting you go anywhere like this,” he says. 

“Kate,” Laura says. Firm, sharp, standing in front of the door. “You are not going anywhere like this." 

Kate can see a flash of red at the top of the stairs, the threat of Natasha imminent. 

“Hawkeye, if it’s something urgent, tell us so we can help,” Hawkeye tentatively puts his hand on her elbow. “If it can wait, then it can wait.” 

“Did you know?” it feels like someone’s hijacked her voice, and she’s glad. It doesn’t feel like she’s asking, but she _has_ to know. 

“Did I—" Clint reaches for the tablet, sees the picture. “Shit. _Shit_.” 

“Know what?” Nat asks. 

“Project Resurrection,” David is gathering their gear. “Did you know about Project Resurrection—" he shakes his head at Kate. “They didn’t.” 

“You said you’d never do that with us,” Natasha’s voice is cutting, all steel. 

“This isn’t exactly a normal situation, is it?” David’s voice is just as cutting. 

Clint passes Natasha the tablet, and Kate can see the shock in her body language. 

“We didn’t know about this,” Natasha says. 

"You?" is all Kate can throw at Nick. 

He gestures to his bandaged chest. "I think it should be _abundantly_ clear there was a lot going on in SHIELD I wasn't aware of." 

There's a dull roaring in her ears and Kate shoves it into a corner of her mind and promptly shuts the door on it. 

“Our flight leaves soon anyway,” Kate manages. “We should go and make sure we’re ready.” 

* * *

They're strapped in to the plane when Kate realizes something that makes her want to vomit.  

"What am I supposed to tell Scott?" She asks David. 

* * *

Kate thinks that if she was running Hydra, and she couldn’t get one Cap, she would settle for another. This is part of her job, to look at things in a way the others won’t, or don’t like to—but it’s there, in the back of her head, a list titled _If I Were the Head of Hydra_ and she’s not going to feel bad about it because it might save their lives. 

This is how she and her truncated team wind up in the middle of the burning desert, first her and David, then Tommy, then Billy and Teddy. They trickle in—it's good. It gives her time to convince Eli that he can't just suit up and go after Hydra. It's been years since he was Patriot, and him running off half-cocked isn't going to do anybody and good. 

They all pretend to be friends of Eli’s come for a visit—though that’s hardly a stretch—and they keep an eye on the two teams that circle the residence. Kate isn’t sure who the good guys are, but she’s got a nice vantage point from the Bradley’s roof. 

There’s a silence, and an openness, in Arizona. It seeps into her bones. 

She wishes it would help clear her thoughts, but you can’t have everything. 

* * *

 

The words themselves are simple. 

Kate can’t wrap her brain around them, but theoretically, they are simple words. 

The boys think this is a debrief, a planning session. Eli’s glare tells her as much.  

“So SHIELD—" she begins, then stops. “Or Hydra, probably. They had this—this program. Project Resurrection.” 

“That sounds stupid,” Tommy interrupts. “Who thinks of this shit?” 

“ _Tommy_ ,” David snaps, interrupting the sarcasm riff before it starts. “Not now.” 

David’s demeanor, if nothing else, shuts everyone up. 

“Project Resurrection, according to the data David’s managed to find, was a contingency plan for—the death of an Avenger. But it was untested. And they didn’t want to test it on an Avenger—what if it failed? But they couldn’t test it on a civilian. It had to be someone with powers.” 

“What do you mean, _was_ untested?” Tommy picks up on that right away. “Who’d they test it on?” 

“Cassie,” the name feels like lead in her mouth. “They tested it on Cassie.” 

The blank stares tell her she hasn’t explained it properly yet— 

“So what, was this one of those procedures Cassie had done? Like—like what I had? The drugs, to make her stronger? Would explain why they didn’t release her body,” Eli shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. 

“Project Resurrection could only be initiated after the _death_ of an Avenger,” David jumps in to help her. “The death part is non-negotiable.” 

“They needed the body of a superhero,” Kate tries that, and she can see lightbulbs start to go off. “Scott never got Cassie’s body because they were experimenting on it.” 

That gets an indignant uproar from everyone but Eli. 

“You mean they _experimented_ on her corpse?” Billy looks green. 

Teddy and Tommy are expressing similar sentiments of outrage. 

But Eli… 

Eli gets it. 

“And what happened to her?” his voice silences the din. 

“It’s called Project Resurrection for a reason,” Kate says, and David starts showing them all the images he’s dug up. “The Winter Soldier? What was done to him laid the groundwork for what was done to Cassie. Brainwashing, enhancements. From what we can tell, she’s been going on missions for—a few years. Assassinations. Bombs. And we don’t think they’re the only ones, Hydra seems to enjoy brainwashing people.” 

“Are you--" Tommy swallows hard. “What are you saying, exactly?” 

“Cassie is alive.” 

Simple words. 

And she still can’t wrap her brain around them. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not like, entirely certain how nick/nat/laura/clint became a thing, and the Farm relationship has had so many iterations throughout working on this fic it's ridiculous. so if it's not your cup of tea, I totally understand.
> 
> also for our purposes Sharon uses her other mom's name to disguise the fact that she's Peggy Carter's daughter. 
> 
> also, i'm not sure how to work this exposition in yet, but basically Fury's known something was hinky in SHIELD for a while--kind of taking from AoS and CATWS--so he's been trying to suss out the problem. this is why he never made it a priority to track down Kate and her team once he found out they'd been decommissioned without his authorization


	4. Feel It Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eli, why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updated as of 10/4/17!  
> some violence? no other warnings. unbetaed

So, apparently Phil Coulson is alive.

Asshole.

David hands her a coffee, takes two large steps back, and tells her this. Which turned out to be a good thing, since she’d crushed the paper cup and splattered perfectly good coffee all over the Bradley’s mudroom.

She’s sending Coulson an invoice for travel and fall-of-SHIELD related expenses as soon as she figures out where to mail it to.

No, she decides later as she gets jumped by someone she still doesn’t know if they’re Hydra or SHIELD. She’ll mail herself and punch him right in his craplousy face.

* * *

 

Kate perches on the roof as the sun sets, heat radiating up and baking her, just slightly. 

Phil's death/not death hurts more than Nick's did. As much as she's loathe to admit it, she likes—liked—Phil better than Nick. Sure, Fury is part of her favorite family, but Phil was a rock, part of _Kate's_ family in a way the former Director of SHIELD never was. 

She spots movement between two houses and peers through a pair of binoculars. They don't know who these people belong to, but have decided on names for the faces they see, just to make things easier. This one is Pool Boy, and he's really good and not being spotted until he's really, really bad at it. 

There's a chance he's being bad on purpose, that he's trying to get a rise out of someone. _Who_ remains to be seen.

Kate stares at Pool Boy as he exchanges words with Mini-Mulan. Not to be confused with Mulan, who _looks_ like Mini-Mulan from a distance, but is in fact older and actually called Agent May, according to David. 

They'd named everyone before David saw her, okay, and it's kind of boring doing this. 

Mini-Mulan leans close to Pool Boy and Kate wonders if there's a _thing_ between the two of them before her thoughts drift back to Phil. 

Does she even want to see him again? Why didn't he try to do anything to help her, the team? Did he know about what happened to Cassie? He has a team now—did he even think to wonder about the one he left behind when he died?

Kate presses her fingers into the bruise Mothman gave her when she got jumped yesterday. Mothman, who had cracked down on some kind of pill that left him frothing at the mouth like some sort of World War Two spy bullshit and left Kate with a dead body to deal with. 

It's not like she and Tommy don't know how, it's just frustrating. 

And time consuming. 

"Why do we always get ditch duty?" Tommy drives the edge of his shovel into the sandy earth and leans heavily on it. It's dark enough he misses Kate's withering glare as she continues to dig. 

"Because we're the only ones who don't retch at the sight of dead bodies." Kate itches her forehead over the cap she's wearing to cut down on visibility. Her hair isn't as much of an issue as Tommy's, and at least he's keeping it on this time. 

Not like in Kaarina, where he'd been a smart ass, _my hair will blend in with the snow_ , and then they'd almost gotten caught. At least the sand _moves_ more than frozen soil did, where every shovelfull had been a fight.

"Why don't we just have Billy transform the bodies into like, a plant or something? And then get rid of it? Isn't that a better idea?"

God, it is. "Can he do that?"

"What, like, religiously? Oh. Maybe not."

"No I meant physically can he do it. I know he's been working on big stuff like that."

"Call it transfiguration, he'll be fine." Tommy pulls off his hat to scratch at his scalp and Kate can practically  _feel_ the snipers zeroing in on them. 

* * *

 

Kate and Tommy handle dead bodies better than anyone else on the team. They still haunt her dreams, sometimes, but she's better at handling the reality of them.

It's all about removing yourself from the situation, and controlled breathing. That's the main difference between Hawkeye and Kate Bishop. Hawkeye doesn't hesitate to make tough calls. Hawkeye is better at detaching from the horror of a situation right in front of her. 

She wonders how many times she'll have to dream about the dead at the Triskelion before it stops being terrifying.

* * *

 

Kate is taking her turn around the neighborhood when Pool Boy jumps her.

In all honesty, she'd been expecting this to happen. Not Pool Boy, specifically, but maybe Mini-Mulan or Fedora or the Mountain or Is That Fucking Blonsky.

She _definitely_ expected it to be Is That Fucking Blonsky, because she's pretty sure it _is_ fucking Blonsky, and years later her knee still hurts when the weather changes because of him. So she _owes_ him, even if he did fall on the right side of things. The Cap side of things. Not that any of them know. All of these creepers could be on the Cap side, or all of them could be on the Hydra side, and it's all just observe and report until they know one way or another. 

Not Mothman, though. He was definitely Hydra.

At any rate, the guy jumps her, putting her in a chokehold, which she thanks him for by slamming him against the nearest privacy fence. He grunts, but doesn't relent, which is when Kate throws all her weight forward, propelling the guy over her head and sitting on his chest once he's sprawled on the sidewalk. 

She has a knife at his throat before he gets his breath back. "My friend Natasha gave me this for my birthday," she informs him, "and I haven't killed anybody with it yet. Do you wanna be the first?"

The guy wheezes at her and she feels something prick her back through her shirt. "Depends," he says. "Do you want me to cut through your spine?" He grins at her then, broad and charming like he thinks his accent will let him get away with everything. "I love a Mexican standoff."

"We're not friends. I don’t need to know that _Inglorious_ _Basterds_ is your favorite movie."

"We could be friends," Pool Boy suggests, trailing his knife along her back. "I'm nice to my friends."

"Somehow, I doubt that." Kate settles her weight more firmly against him, scraping her knife against his Adam's apple, echoing his motions on her. 

"So," Pool Boy says after a moment or two. "What next? I can just sit here til my backup comes, or we can put our knifes away like civilized people and go on our merry ways."

"Sure," Kate deadpans. "On our word as gentlemen."

"I'm certainly not a gentleman, love. But, in the interest of good faith with the girl who sits on top of Cap Bradley's house--" he jerks his knife away from her back and lets it clatter on the ground.

"You're an idiot," Kate tells him, hesitating before flipping hers back into its sheath. 

"So are you," he says, grabbing under her legs and throwing her off of him, sending her skidding along the concrete. Kate waits until he stands before kicking him in the back of the knee, sending him right back down. She scrambles to her feet and knees him in the jaw, only he grabs her thigh and sends her falling over his shoulder and cracking her head against the curb. She gets a solid kick in to his back, groping at her hips for her batons before flipping to her feet. 

He headbutts her and Kate feels the familiar _crunch_ of her nose breaking and she's _so_ done with this guy, landing a blow to his throat that has him gasping for air, giving her time to fumble at her batons, a twist here, and Pool Boy is winding up for another punch when she tazes him. 

She looks at him, and the two blocks between them and the Bradleys. 

"I hate you," she tells him, throwing him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry.

* * *

 

By the time Pool Boy comes to, Kate and Billy have bound him to a chair in Eli's gym, the large shed in the back of the yard. No sense in bringing this mess into the Bradley Seniors home, after all. 

Kate has her nose taped and can feel the spectacular black eyes she's sporting throb as she pulls her ice pack off.

"You're a sight," Pool Boy informs her.

Kate ignores this. "You want to tell me why you're here and who sent you?"

"Not until you do," he smiles that charming smile and Kate wants to wipe it off his face. She squeezes her hand  and breathes out to a five-count.

"It would appear that _I_ have _you_ prisoner, so no, that's not how this will be rolling."

"I'm not worried," he slouches down in the chair, trying to get comfortable. "My mates will be here soon enough."

Kate looks up from the apple she is slicing. Not for intimidation; she wants to get the taste of blood out of her mouth. If she's using a really scary knife, well, so be it.

"Well. I say mates. An ex-wife and her boss, probably." He shifts in the chair. "Bobbi's going to give me hell for this."

"Bobbi?"

"And Phil."

Oh, for fuck's sake. 

Kate leaves Billy with Pool Boy and is waiting on the sidewalk with an arrow at the ready when Phil rounds the corner. 

"I should kill you myself," she informs him.

 

Phil insists they release Pool Boy and talk like civilized people. 

He brings her coffee and a fresh ice pack and Bobbi brings in a bag full of tacos. Kate doesn't believe in being civilized but she does believe in tacos and coffee, so she's willing to entertain the notion.

“So are you a zombie?” David asks Coulson, mouth full of spicy beef.

“Ha!” Pool Boy laughs. “That would be fun. Lance Hunter,” he offers his hand to her. “No hard feelings.”

Kate stares at him before shuffling her ice pack to shake his hand. “Speak for yourself.”

“I have to ask,” he leans close to Kate, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you the Hawkeye Bobbi was married to?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

Phil groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not now, children.”

"Hunter, I can still kill you," Bobbi warns.

"I liked him better when he was Pool Boy," Tommy appears from nowhere and steals the rest of David's taco out of his hand.

"Pool Boy?" Hunter stares at them. "What?"

“Hey,” Kate drops the icepack again to glare at him with both eyes. “Do Clint and Natasha know you’re alive?”

Phil hesitates, then shakes his head.

“Wow. Dick move,” Kate plops the ice back on, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. "You know, I hope when I die that it takes as well as it has for everybody else I know." It's not that she wishes Phil were dead, not really, but seriously. What the fuck. 

"Can we go back to Pool Boy?" Hunter leans across the table to wag his eyebrows at Kate. "Want me to clean your pool, love?"

Kate touches a finger to the middle of his forehead, right where he headbutted her earlier, and pushes him back into his seat. "Ew."

 “So,” Phil looks from Kate to David. Then, with a sigh, he sits.

“So,” Kate mimics his posture and his tone. “Did you know about Project Resurrection?”

“I did. It was concept-only. Or should have been.” Phil gestures to himself. “A lot of concept-only plans seem to have gotten pushed forward in the aftermath of New York.”

“And did you know about the brainwashing part of that program?”

“I knew it was a possibility. The trauma of dying, the moral and spiritual questions that might come with it--being able to wipe part of that away was always considered a valid possibility for the mental well-being of the subject.”

David moves from the corner with murderous intent and Kate holds up her hand. “He’s being honest, at least.” She meets David’s eyes. “We’ll give him credit for that.”

“I’d appreciate if you returned the courtesy,” Phil gestures for David to take a seat. “Let’s talk about the Index.”

“The Index?” Kate offers Phil a perfectly-raised, inquisitive eyebrow and nothing more.

“Don't do that,” Phil grimaces. “Don't act dumb."

"Oh, it's not an act," David reassures Phil while reaching for the guacamole. "Everybody knows Tommy is the brains of the operation."

Tommy chooses this moment to look up, mouth full and lettuce hanging from the corner of his mouth. "What am I?"

Phil just shakes his head, absolutely ten thousand percent dad in that moment. "The Index. I have the suspicion it isn’t quite as comprehensive as I thought it was.”

This is directed at David, who is the picture of innocence.

“The Index?” he tilts his head. “Probably above my clearance level.”

Kate offers him a sympathetic look, which he accepts with a sigh.

“Thank you for that Oscar-worthy performance. Tell me about what you’ve been doing to it since you thought I was dead.”

"Since you _died_?" A laugh bursts out of Tommy. "Oh, my guy. My guy."

" _Tommy_!" David balls up a napkin and throws it at Tommy, and all Kate can do is sigh and rest her head in her hand because nothing helps a situation like an overreaction. 

"Hawkeye," Phil says, his voice low and dangerous in a way that used to be scary. Before aliens and Hydra, yeah, it was scary.

Kate really looks at Phil, then. The gauntness in his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes, the way his hands are folded on the table—he’s done screwing around.

“We scratched a few names off of the list,” Kate will give him this. “Just a few, mind you. It couldn’t be too many without raising suspicion. Mostly younger people—"

“People like you?” Phil interrupts. “Or—?”

" _Or_?" Kate echoes.

“Our departure from SHIELD left a sour taste in our mouths,” Kate ponders her next words as she shakes her hair down and puts it back up in a neat bun. “We weren’t eager for SHIELD to do to another unsuspecting team or individual what they did to us.”

“And what do you think happened to you?”

“We were dumped,” David takes this one. “Groomed to be one of the greatest covert teams since the Howling Commandos and then the newer, shinier Avenger-y model comes along and—boom. Dropped.”

“Of course, in light of recent events,” Kate picks up David’s train of thought, “there was probably a little more to it than that, but still, the logic holds. We didn’t trust SHIELD to have the best interests of some of these people at heart.”

“So we took the liberty of finding some of them.”

“And then making sure SHIELD never did,” Kate finishes.

“That’s a hell of a grudge,” Lance Hunter whistles, looking impressed.

Kate glares at Tommy before he can respond, she can _see_ him thinking "you don't even know the half of it" and _god_. Phil doesn't need to know that they didn't just take names off of the list, they kept people off of it. That there's solid two dozen people they never reported to SHIELD while they worked for the agency, and the number has only grown.

“So, what would I have to do to convince you to give me the names you kept off of the list—not,” he holds up his hand to stem David’s prepared response, “Not your names.”

Kate looks at David out of the corner of her eye; he pinches his lips together and pops his shoulder a hair.

Her call, then.

“Well, we’re not giving you the whole list.”

“For now.”

“Not ever,” she disagrees. “Some of these people want normal lives, Phil, and I’m not about to let you draft them into your shadow war. We’ll give you one name—one name for now. In return for something.”

“Oh?” Phil deflates a little, shoulders sinking, chin dropping. “And what is my forfeit, o Hawkeye?”

“You know what, Phil? I’m gonna have a little faith in you,” she smiles then, leaning forward and staring right in his eyes. “You get the name now. We’ll just put it on your tab. I mean, I’d like you to talk to Nat and Clint, but really, that’s up to you.

“The name,” she pauses, mostly for effect and partly to give David a chance to put his poker face on, “is Doreen. New York. You’ll probably find her in a park.”

Kate leans back. David’s poker face is on point. May as well give Phil a little more.

“You know, I’m feeling nice. She has a partner. Tippy.”

David’s mouth twitches and Phil turns to him with a glare. “Are these real names?”

“Oh, they are definitely real names.” David grins. “And Doreen…hell, she’d probably be thrilled to help. Just—picturing you meeting her. She’s one of a kind.”

Well. No lies there.

 

* * *

 

They aren’t on the Index any more—well, Tommy is, okay, they had to give SHIELD something and Tommy’s already in a lot of databases, most of them criminal. But not Kate, or Billy, or Teddy or Eli or America. Noh is, because you can’t cover up shit that happens in Area 51 from the government. And Kate’s fairly certain that at least a quarter of the reason David even joined SHIELD was to keep himself off lists like that.

But if you’re looking—

There’s enough information on her team still in SHIELD’s databases that more obscure hackers—hacktivists—whatever, people who like digging—have started to piece together a very incomplete picture of them. Most of the information is old, like, back when they were first approached by SHIELD old. Most of the websites and conspiracy blogs they’ve popped up on seem to think they’re teenagers still.

Which is fine. Anything that makes them harder to find; anything that protects her team—that’s all right by Kate.

It’s really more the fact that they’ve been given the moniker Young Avengers that irks Kate. 

It’s only a matter of time, though. Before someone with the brains and the tenacity and the time starts to piece together the information that’s there, starts to see the holes and notice the information that’s not there.

Hopefully it’s not a reporter.

Hell, maybe it’ll be someone like them.

Kate does love networking..

She does not, however, appreciate getting a text at three AM with a picture of one of the Young Avengers headlines, followed by _lolololololol_ from Nico.

 

* * *

 

The Bradleys are trying to kill Kate.

Specifically, Cap is trying to kill Kate. Isaiah takes a three-mile run every morning at five. Eli keeps trying to duck his SHIELD detail—at least, when it’s Hunter. He seems to like the baby agent—Skye— all right (which. Yes, Kate and Mrs. B have exchanged Significant Looks over this fact).

Fact is, though, it’s been a few weeks now and aside from a few Hydra agents, nobody’s busting down Cap’s door. Everybody that’s left is getting antsy.

Which, aside from the Bradleys, is Kate, Hunter, and Skye. Phil left the day Kate and David gave him Doreen’s name; Mrs. Bradley has been kicking the rest of them out in stages. Tommy first, because he’s never been good at staying in once place, Billy and Teddy next, to go get ready for the new semester at Columbia. David left three weeks ago once he and Kate had finalized a few things. He’s currently back in New York, overseeing the refurbishment of an old Bishop Publishing warehouse that Kate convinced (blackmailed) her father to give to her.

Kate is almost ready to leave, but, well. Cap just looks like a man itching for a fight. Kate knows that look; she sees it every time she looks in a mirror. Eli isn’t much better. Kate can see him chafing at the bit, wanting to go to—something, she’s not sure what. It’s the fear that the something Eli wants to do is reckless and dangerous that’s keeping her here.

She is still trying to convince the Bradleys to move, to no avail.

“I like Arizona,” Mrs. Bradley informs Kate. “It’s a dry heat.”

 

* * *

Kate is certain Eli wants her dead, at this point.

“Why did you think storming a Hydra base by yourself was a good idea??” she hisses at him, pressing herself tight against the wall.

“I had a lead!”

“A lead on what? Death?”

“Don’t give me that! On Cassie!”

Oh, _god_. It makes sense and it's heartbreaking at the same time. 

And also, it's probably going to wind up with her dead or in traction. 

“This isn’t a lead, Eli! This is a poorly-planned clusterfuck that is now going to alert Hydra that we’re looking for her! You’re supposed to gather intel and case the place before doing shit like this!” She can't strangle him, not now. It's not like she's a _PI_ or anything, with practice investigating things. Not like she would have been a good person to ask for help _while investigating a thing_. 

“I’m being proactive!”

“You’re being stupid! We have no backup.”

“Oh,” Eli says, "Right."

Like he’s realizing for the first time how vastly outnumbered they are. It’s not like they aren’t usually, or that this is out of character for him, even. It’s more that this is a Hydra base, however understaffed or out of the way, and there’s only so much Kate can do. Eli hasn’t been a part of the team for years, and for all intents and purposes, right now he’s a civilian. If he’d been training, working with them, it might be a different story, but right now all Kate is seeing is the fact that she can only guarantee Eli getting out if she stays.

And, you know.

Probably dies a horrific, torturous death.

Which is going to put a crimp in her fall plans, that’s for sure.

“I’ll cover you,” she decides. “You get out, you call your SHIELD detail. And then,” a huge sigh. “Call Natasha. She’ll probably have a better idea what to do with this place.”

Also, Kate wouldn't trust anyone more than Natasha with her dead body and the inevitable cover up that will have to occur.

“Patriot. You ready?”

"We didn't get what we came here for."

There is a long, sharp siren blast and floodlights snap on. "Considering neither of us know what we came here for, I think that ship has sailed." Voices shout and rhythmic footfalls pound nearby. "Patriot, we don't have time. I'll have to go back in anyway, I'll look for their server room or something. But you need to go, _now_."

“You sure about this?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. I’ll shoot some computers and try and find something to blow up while you’re gone.”

Eli stares at her for a minute, eyes boring into her, like he’s trying to figure out if she’s serious. “Okay,” he nods. “Let’s do this.”

Kate climbs on top of one of the guard checkpoint stations. Perfect vantage point. She nods at him and he nods back, putting his fist against his chest and--

 _I'm sorry_ , he signs. 

She whistles, and Eli runs.

It's a good thing she stayed behind. For all that SHIELD/Hydra was brought down by a ninety-year-old and his ragtag group of friends, they’re actually pretty on top of security breaches, and they really like guns. Large guns that they're aiming at Eli, which is a no-go for her. At this height, it's like shooting fish in a barrel. By the time Hydra figures out where she’s at, Eli is past the gates. 

She waits until half of them have broken off to chase her before loosing an explosive round at the gap in the fence Eli escaped through, sending most of the Hydra agents flying back. A rappelling arrow gets her off the tower as they start shooting at her, but by then she's in the shadow of one of the buildings, creeping along the wall. When she reaches the end of the outbuilding, she waits for a lull in the action and darts across a dirt path and back into what seems to be the main building.

May as well, right? 

There's no way this compound is fully staffed like Eli had told her; it's also easily half as big as the plans he'd stolen. On the one hand, it will be easier to hide from fewer guards—on the other, there's way less space to hide from them in and more bodies per square foot than she'd anticipated. 

For example, right now, she should be in the server room, according to Eli's intel. In reality, she’s in a windowless hallway full of doors. She’s starting to suspect Eli just stole the blueprints from the city planning building and took them at face value instead of thinking that Hydra would, you know, lie about that sort of thing.

Not that it would have really mattered; she rounds a corner and runs smack into a group of guards. Positives: she’s startled them so they don’t reach for their guns right away. Negatives: they have guns and tasers.

They’re too close for the guns to be easily effective—firearms have a limited efficacy in close quarters, even if close-quarters combat isn't your forte--though she does get grazed by a bullet before she can kick that particular gun out of that particular owner’s hand and then kick very hard at that particular head. He goes down, though, which is the important part--

A knee catches her in the ribs and she can feel something give in a sickening _crunch_.

She fumbles at her belt and smashes a smokebomb on the floor. The thing about your best friend being a former carnie is that you never underestimate the power of a good special effect. Opaque clouds billow from the small sphere, filling the hall and making it impossible to see anything more than two inches in front of you. 

Kate, who, of course, _knew_ she would be pulling the smoke bomb, made sure to note where the nearest door was, and ducks through it accordingly. It leads her into a large room with a lot of computers. Thirty, at least, so not really impressive as all that, but clearly somewhere important. The room has tall ceilings and exposed support structures; she knows a converted storage facility when she sees one. Some of the computers look old; fifteen years at least, others look brand-new, a few packing peanuts scattered across the floor and empty boxes lending weight to the observation.

The farther into the room she goes, the older some of the computers look, the bigger they get, until they don't even look like _computers_ any more, they look more like giant tape players. Large curved screens and dirty off-white modems that look like they're older than she is. She shakes her head and ignores the computers for now. Lots of computers usually mean cameras and security, so she doesn't have a lot of time to figure out where to go next. If she could get higher, there’s a lot of great places to hide and shoot from, but the nearing sound of gunshots makes her doubt she’s got time.

Wait. Gunshots? Who are they shooting at?

Three of the Hydra goons Kate just escaped from pile in through the door, swearing and shouting and calling for backup as they reload their weapons. They haven’t even realized Kate is behind them, which is simultaneously annoying and insulting and an absolute relief. 

Gunshots still sound from the hallway along with one strangled scream.

It would seem she and Eli aren’t the only people who broke into this facility; some of the frantic calls for backup are being met with radio silence and static.

Though, she thinks, as doors behind her burst open, not nearly enough radio silence. She has just enough time to hear a _thud_ and see a fist-sized dent get put into the door she came through before she turns and fires on the guys behind her.

They seem kind of surprised by her, truth be told. Like she wasn't a priority. She takes down two of them before they even realize she's there. Almost half of them are past her when they figure it out, tunnel-visioned on the opposite door.

When the door flies off its hinges, she gets why they're not worried about her. 

It's the guy from the river. The man with the metal arm. It’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes.

She should be wary of him, after shooting up the freeway and Nick, after shooting Steve Rogers. He's a brainwashed assassin who could probably crush her skull with his hands.

 _He asked for help. He didn't kill Rogers._ He's also the only one not shooting at her, which doesn't just make him her best option, it makes him her _only_ option. 

Not to mention, if Hydra's shooting at you, you're probably doing something right.

Deciding to not worry about him—at least not right now—makes her life easier. She focuses on the Hydra agents, who have finally realized she's there and also a threat. Sure, it took five guys with arrows sticking out of them to get to that point, but slow learners make good enemies. 

Hydra is on top of her, too close for arrows to be effective, so she pulls out her batons and starts swinging until the area immediately around her is clear. One guy probably has a broken kneecap and another a broken jaw; for the most part, they seem to be focusing their efforts on Barnes. 

She hears one of them say _contain the asset_ , and aim his gun at Barnes' head. Then It's just a point of fucking _pride_ for her to get her bow back in hand and put an arrow in that guy's eye.

It's the first time Barnes seems to notice her, his head cocking back just a little before two other Hydra guys grab her and her head gets slammed into the corner of a desk. It’s a gesture she repays in kind; she puts a Hydra guy’s head through one of the older monitors and manages to kick the other in the throat.

Hawkeye pointedly ignores the electric sizzle coming from the monitor and focuses instead on using a desk as leverage to get her legs around another agent's neck, squeezing until he doesn’t move any more.

When she looks up, she’s face to face with Bucky Barnes.

He looks like he’s about to say something when he plucks an arrow from her quiver, and flings it over her shoulder, and action immediately followed by the sound of a gun clattering to the floor. Kate turns, blood dripping into her eye, and sees a Hydra agent with an arrow sticking out of his throat, sputtering, before he collapses on the floor.  

He turns to her; must see something in her face that prompts him to say, “Don’t worry. Two more will take his place.”

“Huh,” Kate presses fingers to her forehead to try and stanch the flow of blood. “Fuck physics, I guess.”

“What?” He snaps, and Kate can hear a soft whirr as the metal plates in his arm shift. Maybe he’s expecting her to be more upset about him killing someone in front of her? There are at least seven guys with arrows sticking out of their eyes courtesy of her.

“I—" she’s got an arrow out and in the eye of the Hydra goon prepping to shoot Bucky Barnes in the back before she can even come up with a sentence. “I guess I should thank you for not using a fun arrow.”

“Fun—fun arrow?” he says, the words stilted, eyes constantly scanning the room.

“Fun for me,” she amends. “Tasers. EMPs. Nets. Boomerangs.” She gestures carelessly with the arrow she has in her hand. "Putty arrow."

He stares at the ground, at the five agents whose feet are still stuck flat on the floor, glued by a thick brown substance. "I guess I thought they were just idiots."

He looks at her then, taking in her tac suit with the frayed edges where she ripped off the SHIELD insignia and the blood drying on her face and in her hair courtesy of her head wound.

“You’re not SHIELD.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, which starts her bleeding all over again.

She’s standing three feet from the Winter Soldier. Again. She’s probably supposed to be scared of him, like she wasn’t the first time—but for a minute, all she can feel is overwhelming gratitude to him for existing, and for fucking over Hydra/SHIELD so that she even _knows_ that Cassie is alive.

 _I should get him a fruit basket,_ she thinks, then _I probably have another concussion. Futz._

“So, my intel was a little thin,” is what she actually says. “Do you know how many more of these assholes we can expect?”

“I think that should be it,” he says, eyes starting their journey across the room again. “This is a backup facility, they were just starting to move in. Your friend,” he switches gears abruptly. “He made it out fine.”

“That’s good,” Kate mutters. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Captain America.”

It’s not the answer Kate expects.

“I know—I _knew_ him, I think,” he corrects himself. “I found intelligence that said he lives in the area, so I came. When I did, I found two opposing teams in play, one guarding the residence, one watching. I observed and waited.”

He’s relaying all of this to her like a mission debrief, facts thrown out, rapid-fire.

“This evening I saw you and a man, dressed in red, white and blue, leave the residence. I followed.”

It takes a minute, but once she understands her stomach sinks. “You followed because--?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” For the first time, Kate sees a flash of vulnerability. He's uncertain and he's...scared? “I knew that I had to protect the man with the shield. I just thought he was someone else.”

How do you respond to that? This doesn’t seem like the right time to offer a hug that lasts a thousand years, nor does he seem like the kind of person who would accept it. Dozens of assassinations, Natasha had said. Dangerous, terrorist, the news says.

She remembers the footage David found of Barnes, of the unfreezing and the brainwashing. One of those things she wishes she could forget, but she can't. It's etched in her mind now, and she needs to be scared of him but all she can see is him screaming as they fried his brain.

Unbidden, a memory of Dum Dum surfaces. He was sitting in his old corduroy recliner while she and Cassie devoured an entire plate of hamentashen. Dum Dum liked talking about Bucky during the holidays, but Purim most of all. He would regale them with stories of the Howling Commandos—mad genius Howard Stark and sweet-talking Gabe Jones. Tough-as-nails Peggy Carter and explosives expert Dernier; of Cap and the charismatic Cap-wrangling Bucky Barnes. Dum Dum had always told stories with wild gestures, getting cookie crumbs all over the floor. It’s that memory, the memory of a ridiculous Yosemite Sam mustache that makes the choice for her.

“So, what do I call you?” Kate steps close, but not too close. Just because she’s going to help him any way he’ll let her doesn’t mean she has to be stupid. Nobody believes it, but Hawkeyes _do_ try to not be reckless.

“I don’t know,” He shrugs one shoulder, the one that isn’t metal. “I used to be called something, but I don’t think I’m that man anymore.”

“I’m Kate,” she offers her hand.

“James,” he takes her hand after a moment’s hesitation, looking wary. It sounds like a question, but she’ll take it.

“James,” Kate smiles, a real one that hurts because, yeah, that’s a split lip. “Thank you for—well, saving my life,” she says, surveying the dead and unconscious Hydra guys around them.

“You would’ve made it,” he shrugs again, but with something that might grow into a smile playing about his mouth.

“No,” she shakes her head, then sighs. “I don’t know. Patriot made it out, that was the point.”

He frowns at her then, glares. “You remind me of someone. Do I know you?”

“Look, James,” Kate ignores the question. “Patriot called this in, called people who have more manpower to figure out what was going on here, and destroy it. Not SHIELD, but I don’t know who all’s going to come. I don’t know if you want to be here if—”

“If Captain America comes,” he says, and it’s not a question.

“Yep.”

“I think I know him. Knew him.”

“Yeah,” she bobs her head. “But the thing is, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Or what whoever does come is going to want to do. I’m giving you a chance to bug out if you want.”

“The river,” he says suddenly. “In D.C. You were less purple.”

Kate realizes she's staring at him, slack-jawed. "That's—yeah. That was me. I didn't think you'd remember."

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah, I do that." Kate pulls out her phone and finds the contact she needs. "Hey, Pool Boy."

" _What is wrong with you?"_

"Patriot. Did he--"

_"No worries, love. We're on our way to you now. ETA twenty minutes. You think you can survive that?"_

Kate looks at the unconscious Hydra agents strewn at her feet, then at James Barnes. His rifle is slung across his back and he's got a knife in his metal hand. While she watches he prods one of the Hydra goons with the toe of his boot.

"I might be able to make it," she informs Hunter before hanging up on him. It's not as though she's never dealt with assassins before, or people who have been brainwashed. Never a brainwashed assassin, but there has to be a first time for everything, right?

She draws on exactly none of this experience when she takes a half-step towards him and asks, "So, come here often?"

James looks almost as startled by his sudden burst of laughter as she does.

Totally worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right guys! hope you're liking the reworking of stuff. Lance Hunter being called Pool Boy is inspired by
> 
> [this fic right here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2713877)
> 
> that I read years ago. Clearly, it made an impression.  
> Bucky wasn't Jewish when I started writing this, but he sure is now. So is Dum Dum, and so is Howard. Not sure about Steve yet. The Inglorious Basters reference happened before I made this discovery. Just one of those weird dumb writer things, I guess.


	5. The Ghosts of Beverly Drive/ A Little Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little party never killed nobody. Somebody should probably pass that message along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for: original characters. mild discussion of torture and brainwashing. Unrealistically spry 90-year olds. poc!kate. gratuitous character name-dropping. potentially insufficient character development. rewritten family ties.  
> updated as of 11/24/17

“Well,” a not entirely unfamiliar voice says from the door. “This seems like it might have been a little reckless.” 

“Are you kidding me?”  Kate is sitting cross-legged on top of one of the desks, clacking away on a keyboard. _Awesome Mix Vol. 2_ is playing from her phone and Rocket is texting her pictures of the bomb he's making. “I might not be the leading expert in Steve Rogers but I know that you are the last person who can give me lectures on recklessness, Mr. Let-me-lie-on-my-enlistment-papers-so-you-can-inject-me-with-this-experimental-drug-so-I-can-go-fight-Nazis. Tell me again how reckless I’m am.” 

Kate catches movement out of the corner of her eye; a flash of silver disappearing. 

She’s surprised he stayed this long, watching her back. Expected him to leave after zip-tying and duct-taping the Hydra agents. 

She doesn’t want to say it gives her warm fuzzies, but it does feel nice. 

Captain Rogers makes his way towards her, hobbling between rows of desks. Her eyes rise from the computer screen. “Hey,” Kate calls to Captain America, who looks to be in a fair amount of pain. “Weren’t you mostly dead the last time I saw you?” 

“Mostly dead is still slightly alive,” he responds, somewhat absently.  

Kate stares at him for a moment, nonplussed before she manages to dredge up words. “I genuinely did not expect that.” 

“What do you people think I’ve been doing for the past two years?” Rogers mutters. 

“Not getting laid,” Natasha supplies. 

“Trying to start a revival of _1776_?” Falcon guesses. 

“Watching documentaries about yourself and then tearing them to shreds over inaccuracies?” Kate glances up as she says this to find Rogers staring at her, slightly slack-jawed. “Aw, yes!” She does a celebratory fist pump. “Suck it, Prodigy. I knew that was you, Rogers.” 

“How?” 

She doesn’t have time to respond before Eli is barreling into the room. “Hawkeye? Hawkeye!” 

“Present and accounted for—and bleeding everywhere, man, I just got this to stop,” she swipes at her forehead again, trying unsuccessfully to stop the blood from smearing on her protective eyewear. Just because Clint is okay with everyone seeing his face doesn't mean all Hawkeyes are. 

Eli reaches for her face, probably to prod at all of the injuries he can see, and she bats his hands away. He’s going to be a history teacher, not a doctor, and she doesn’t need his grimy gloves near her open wounds. 

“Hawkeye,” Natasha repeats, stepping over a few bodies to a computer bank. “Good to see you again. The Barton in Chief is still mad at you.” 

“Oh, gee, thanks. You guys got here fast.” 

“We were in the area,” the Falcon adds, recognition lighting his eyes as he sees Kate. “Oh, hey. We meet again.” He eyes her dirty bleeding face, the blood on the desk she’s sitting on. “You maybe want me to patch you up a little?” 

“What do you mean, we meet again?” Eli eyes Falcon suspiciously. 

“We meet...again?” Falcon looks to Kate for guidance. All she can offer is a shrug, which sets her bleeding...again. 

“Hawkeye,” Steve Rogers stares at her over Falcon’s shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Oh, yeah. DC. You called me a heavy sonofabitch.” 

“No, no,” Natasha calls from the computer that she’s hacking. “Hawkeye doesn’t call people that.” 

“I’m pretty sure she called you a heavy-ass fuck,” the Falcon looks positively gleeful as he adds this tidbit, pulling alcohol wipes from some mysterious place on his person. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eli interrupts. “Were you at SHIELD HQ when SHIELD fell?” 

“Prodigy asked me to be his plus-one, and it would have been rude to say no.” 

Eli looks torn between shaking her silly or yelling some more. Which. It’s not like she and David hid this fact. 

“Hang on,” she tells Eli before turning her gaze to Captain Rogers. “I’d like to revisit the fact that _that’s_ what you recognize me from?” One of her gestures whacks the Falcon in the arm and he tucks her hand under her thigh with an unimpressed nonchalance. “Two seconds of hauling your sorry ass away from a river? That’s it? I didn’t even do most of that! Un-fucking-believable,” she throws her hands up and Falcon glares at her. 

“Do you want me to help, or not?” 

“Sorry,” she mutters, tucking her hands back under her legs. “Please continue.” 

Falcon stares at her for a moment. There’s something familiar about that stare, but not quite something comforting. Something that makes her think along the lines of _haha_ _oh shit._  

“Nope, sorry, that’s right,” Rogers continues. “You said, ‘Christ, you’re heavy.’ You swear a lot, Hawkeye.” 

Kate opens her mouth for rebuttal, the shuts it with a snap. _This fucking guy_. Troll Captain of America. 

“In Hawkeye’s defense,” Steve says. “I had just been thrown on top of her. And I think sprained your wrist?” 

Natasha raises her head, eyes narrowing at Steve. 

“New York. Loki,” he says by way of explanation. Natasha nods, refocusing on the computer. 

“And then you fired us,” Eli blasts at Rogers. 

“After what just happened to SHIELD, you really want me to feel bad about that? And just to be clear, I was given the impression that I was doing you a favor.” 

Well, that’s too ridiculous to be ignored. 

“By who? And I swear to God you’d better not say Sitwell.” Eli crosses his arms, and it's like an Angry American Flag-off. 

“Well, I guess him painting you as unreliable civilians makes more sense now,” Rogers says after a very pregnant pause. 

“It’s a good thing he’s dead,” Kate mutters.  “Because I would very much like to shoot him.” 

“Speaking of,” Steve unsnaps—or un-velcroes, whatever—a section of his chestpiece. “I think this is yours, Hawkeye.” 

He holds an arrow out to her, and Kate smiles in spite of herself. “Keep it, Cap. Never know when it might come in handy.” 

“That sounds ominous,” Falcon says, pressing a butterfly bandage more firmly against her forehead. 

“More like, if you ask for this arrow we’re in deep shit?” Rogers tucks the arrow away. 

“Or actually, if I ask for that arrow back you are no longer in my favor.” 

“Hawkeye likes to think she’s a queen,” Eli explains, leaning back against a console. 

“Because I am one,” Kate winces under the Falcon’s hands. “Hey. Ow.” 

“Well, I’m not surprised _ow_ ,” he snaps his gloves off. “Keep it dry for the next twenty-four hours. And don’t take the bandages off tomorrow.” 

“Why do you say it like that? You don’t know me!” 

“I know your type,” and there’s a glint in his eye. An evil glint. The evil medbay glint, oh shit, Kate knows that look. That’s what’s familiar: the attitude of a person who will put your ass in traction if that’s what it takes. Tough-love types. 

Kate must look as meek as she feels when she offers Falcon an “Okay,” because Steve Rogers, the Trolliest Troll of America, doubles over laughing. 

And then clutches his stomach with a pained expression, which, you know, serves him right. 

=*=

Kate is creeping in the shadows as new!SHIELD comes storming onto the place. Coulson and Pool Boy and Bobbi, them and yet more people she'd rather not see, including the one slipping onto the shadows next to her. 

Well, he was with STRIKE Team Delta. He's got to have _some_ sneakiness in him. 

"Hey, Cap," she says easily. No sense letting him operate under the delusion he's unseen. 

"Hawkeye." He leans next to her, wincing as his muscles adjust. Kate pretends not to notice. "Enjoying the American Southwest?"

"Oh, sure. It's great. My ice packs melt faster here, though."

"Well, naturally."

"What do you need, Cap?" It's strange. Calling him Cap doesn't seem as wrong as it used to, somehow.

"Nothing," he looks at her, surprise written all over his features. How is he a good spy? "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. And thank you for pulling me out of the river."

"That wasn't me. That was your pal with the metal arm. I just pulled you farther from the bank."

He doesn't look stunned by this revelation. Kate wonders who told him—Tasha, maybe? Falcon guy? She sighs as she leans back against the wall, her goggles biting into the tender flesh around her nose. "Hey, if I take my glasses off, do you promise to forget my face?"

"Sure," he says easy enough.

This time Kate's sigh is one of relief as she eases the goggles off, her face throbbing as the pressure eases.

"I don't think I'd be able to find you even if I _did_ remember your face," he says after a minute. "Someone sure did a number on you."

"Pool Boy," Kate mutters.

"Pool boy?"

"It's a long story," she shrugs. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay then." 

She can tell he wants to ask, his fingers twitching like he's got an itch he can't scratch, but he doesn't ask. She lets him stew, lets the silence settle around them until she asks the question she's been chewing on for a while now.

"Captain," she murmurs. "How many?"

His eyes widen as he ducks his head down to look at her. "You don't know?"

"I know the official count," she clarifies. "Not the actual."

"Oh." Rogers hesitates now, and Kate feels like she's going to throw up. "Worldwide, the count's somewhere around a thousand."

"Somewhere?" She glares at him. "Don't bullshit me, Cap."

"One thousand, seven hundred and eighty-nine," he says, mostly to the floor. "At least two hundred confirmed Hydra agents. Three hundred of those are from the Triskelion."

 _Baker's Glen,_ she thinks. _Population 1,342. 531 injured. 136 dead. You couldn't do your job then, you can't now, who are you fooling?_ Kate doesn't realize she's sunk to the floor until her ass hits cold concrete. Her head buzzes and the world tilts on its axis, _three hundred people dead because you couldn't do your damn job, H_ _awkeye._

"Hey," he says, his voice coming from a million miles away. "Do you know how many more would be dead if not for you and Prodigy? Because I've talked to some of those people you saved."

"More," Kate croaks, and it's a miracle she doesn't barf. "Should have saved more. Should have known this was happening."

"Wow," Steve Rogers whistles at her after a minute. "That's some ego you've got on you."

"Excuse me?" Kate jerks her head up to glare at him.

"You didn't strike me as Tony Stark levels of in love with himself," Rogers continues. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me? What's wrong with you? Did you run a department at SHIELD? Have unlimited access to all their information?"

"No..." Kate trails off, eyeing him suspiciously. 

"Then how in the hell were you supposed to be able to catch something that no one else did? Not Howard Stark or Peggy Carter, two of the smartest people I've ever met in my life. Not Nick Fury or Natasha Romanoff, two of the best spies in the world. You're better than they are, is that what you're telling me?"

Kate's mouth opens and closes soundlessly, leaving her feeling like a very uncomfortably placed trout. He gives her a wry smile and slides down the wall so he's sitting next to her. 

"You're not," Rogers says, his voice softer now. " _I'm_ not. You hadn't even worked for SHIELD in three years, the fact you knew _anything_ was going on, the fact that you decided to do something about it—that means something, Hawkeye."

Kate kind of feels like she's been punched in the sternum, so it takes her a minute to catch her breath. He's not _wrong,_ is the thing. Smarter people than she missed this, missed this for _years_. For fucking decades. People with more access, more manpower—Nick fucking Fury missed this. Kate squeezes her shaking hands between her knees. "I knew them. I worked with them."

"So did I."

"I'm not saying it doesn't suck for you, too, dude, chill out."

"That's not what I—I'm trying to say I know how you feel."

"Oh. Right. Thanks?" Kate looks at him then, really looks at him. "Steve," and calling him Steve doesn't feel any stranger that calling him _Cap_ , which is strange of itself, "how many funerals have you gone to?"

He gives her the same startled-fish look she'd just given him. "Twenty," he says after a beat. "But I only really remember sixteen, because I was still pretty out of it from the gunshot wounds still."

"Jesus Christ. Steve."

"Don't give me that, Hawkeye. You and I both know you'd be at them too."

"Yeah, cause you know me so well."

"Maybe not. But you have to admit, I know you a little." He gives her a little smile that turns into a grimace.

"Slow down, old man," She nudges his shoulder with hers, and it feels companionable and _nice_ in a way things haven't felt for a while. A smile pulls at Kate's split lip and swollen cheeks. He gets it. Steve understands in a way Eli only does vaguely and David tries to but still doesn't quite.

Billy gets it, it's why he pulls back on the heroing. It's a lot of pressure to feel responsible for everyone and Kate gets his need to step back. She wishes she could, too. It's just--

Protecting people isn't something she knows how to stop any more. Maybe it's a habit, maybe it's an addiction that she's holding on to, with both hands, white-knuckling her way through life.

"I don't—I haven't seen a list. I probably know some of these people. How many casualties at the New York agency?"

"Around two hundred, I think."

"We blackmailed the agent in charge of the weapons proficiency testing at the New York office," Kate says drowsily, leaning her head back against the wall. "Speed's a shit shot. Or did we bribe the New York agent and blackmail the one at the Triskelion?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, maybe."

It's _nice_. Not the existential crisis, but sitting shoulder to shoulder with Cap. Her face throbs and she exists in the pain for a few hazy moments. She floats, half-unaware until finally reattaching herself to her consciousness with a throbbing headache.

Her head is resting on Steve Rogers' shoulder, and he's using _her_ head as a pillow. And _snoring._ God, his head's heavy. All of him is heavy.

Also her hand is like. Weirdly high on his thigh. And his pants are really tight. She can feel the puckering of scars under her thumb.

 _Stop thinking about how tight his pants are, Hawkeye. Also, get up_.

But how? She's got a crick in her neck, but Steve is really warm and surprisingly comfortable for a guy who she drug from a river. 

It takes some finagling, but she manages to get a hand on his head and lifts it off of hers, doing a weird shuffle to reposition his head against the wall. _I slept with Steve Rogers,_ she thinks, mildly hysterical. _Billy is_ _gonna_ _freak_.

=*=

Kate doesn’t know where to start looking. If looking is even something that will matter, because if the Winter Soldier wants to vanish, she’s positive that vanished he will be. 

But she asks the right question with just the right smile at the right gas station and gets pointed in the direction of a cheap motel on the back end of a highway. It's the kind of hotel people get murdered in. Surrounded by woods with poor lighting and broken neon. _Clean_ is probably not a word this establishment is familiar with, but _Bates Motel_ or _have you seen this couple_ probably is.

Kate parks next to the lone streetlamp and cuts the engine. It's quiet but for the ungodly scream of cicadas and still, not even a breeze stirring the trees. Kate didn't even know you could _get_ trees in this part of the country. There are definitely bodies buried out here.

She's probably going to be one of them. 

"Worse ways to die," she mutters to herself. "Just open the door. He's not going to kill you now after he went to all that trouble to keep you alive."

Still, she's cautious before she opens her car door, checking shadows and trees. Kate sees nothing and with the slowness of an eighty-five-year-old, opens the door, slides her foot out, followed by her body, and shuts the door with a muffled _thump_. 

But he's been doing this for a lot longer and all her caution is for naught--he’s on her as soon as she gets out of the car.

His forearm is at her throat as he hisses “Were you followed?” but just as quickly she’s kneeing him, shoving him back before common sense catches up with instinct and Kate remembers that he can kill her with as much ease as she peels a banana.

As if to prove her point, the Winter Soldier has a knife pointed at her, but it takes a minute for his body language to sink in. Hunched shoulders, half-lunged with his weight on his front foot—he's a man ready to run. 

“Jesus,” Kate pants, doubled over with her hands on her knees, the last bit of adrenaline wrung out of her. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. No, I wasn’t followed.” 

The knife goes away in a movement so fast she can't track it. The wary look of a man being hunted doesn’t disappear so quickly. 

Kate has the sinking sensation he needs help, and Jesus, she is the last person who should be helping people, she’s a Hawkeye and the subtext of that moniker is Walking Talking Fighting Human Disaster.  

Up close, the…Winter…James, James, that’s what he asked to be called, looks worse than she realized.  

Gaunt, haunted—he’s not filling out his clothes right. She wonders how long it’s been since he’s had a decent meal; think about the file David had sent her about the maintenance of assets and changes the question to how long has it been since he’s gotten nutrition, since taste and home-cooked meals hadn't seemed a top priority for Hydra. 

She takes a deep, fortifying breath and nearly gags. 

He also doesn’t exactly smell stellar. 

“Okay, where’s your room?” 

“Room?” 

“Room. Which room is…” she trails off when she sees his mystified expression. “Jesus. Okay, so, I’m going to go get us—you—a room. You wait here.” 

Kate isn’t sure if it’s a her thing, or a spy thing, or an heiress thing, but she’s really good at lying about hotel rooms. 

The balding manager of the Starlite Roadside Motel (Free HBO!) gets a lie about her brother needing a room, the farthest one back, please, he just got back from overseas and he’s a little skittish, still, and this is the first time he’s stopped moving since he got back, thank you. 

It’s a lie that gets them extra towels and blankets. 

“The bed’s gonna be too soft for him,” the manager informs her when he hands over the stack of extra bedding. “You might suggest sleeping on the floor to him.” 

Darrell, his nametag says. He's a big guy, some of it muscle, some of it not, with tattoos disappearing up the sleeves of his shirt. He gives her a knowing nod. “You let me know if there’s anything else I can do for him.” 

Kate feels so stupidly grateful she wants to cry. “Thank you. I will.” 

Darrell. Starlite Roadside Motel. She won't forget him.

=*=

“Okay,” Kate stands, hands on her hips, and surveys the room. “Okay, so.” 

That’s all she’s got, and it’s not going to cut it. She tries again. 

“You should get cleaned up, and I’ll figure out some food—what do you want to eat?” 

“Food isn’t—" he cuts himself off. “Most food I can get is not providing adequate nutrition. I think—I may be having trouble digesting. I can’t be sure.” 

“What was the last thing you ate?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Do you remember when you ate last?” 

He stares at her. 

Ah. Wonderful. 

“Okay. So, here’s the plan. I’m going to go get some food, maybe some clothes for you—unless you’ve got a pack around here somewhere? No? Okay. I’ll do that. You get cleaned off. The front desk guy gave me some extra towels, and there should be some shampoo and soap in the shower.” 

James is staring at her. 

“What?" Kate swipes at her forehead. "Am I bleeding again?” 

“No. Shower?” 

“Yeah, you know…” she trails off. “Okay. Follow me.” 

She leads him the three steps to the dingy bathroom and flicks on the light. “Shower,” she gestures to the tub, then holds back a sigh. How did Hydra get him clean? Did they hose him down, Kyln-style? Thinking of James and Rocket in the same thought almost sets her off in hysterical laughter because everything is awful and the universe is awful.

“Okay.” Kate mentally shakes herself as she unwraps the bar of soap from the sink, slaps it into his hand. “Soap. For your body.” 

She pulls aside the shower curtain and locates the mini-bottles. “Shampoo. For your hair,” she eyes James, then the shower, and thinks of the footage she’s seen of Cassie, turns back to the shower. “Hot water. Cold water. Please do not use all one or all the other. The water should be comfortable, not scalding or freezing.” 

“I have permission to use warm water, ma’am?” 

That is absolutely not the sound of Kate’s heart breaking, thanks for asking. 

“James. I need you to listen carefully, okay?” She takes a deep breath and looks up at him. “I’m not a ma’am. I’m not your commander, or handler, I’m your friend, if you want. And as long as what you want doesn’t hurt someone else, go for it. Warm water? Please, use it all if you want.” 

He takes a deep breath and gives her a sharp nod. 

“Okay. If you think you’re set here, I’m going to see what I can get for food. I’ll be back, maybe an hour. Are you going to be okay?” 

He nods, manages a wry smile. The person he used to be before someone made him a weapon shines through for a second. “I think I’ll survive.” 

=*=

The first stop is back to the front desk to ask about a hotplate. Darrel promises to have one for her by the time she gets back from the nearest 24-hour superstore. 

She arrives and it's there, standing in the fluorescent, soul-sucking lights and white tile, that she realizes she is utterly lost. 

She needs someone to tell her what to do. Which happens infrequently enough that she wastes a solid five minutes standing, staring into space. 

She doesn’t quite register that her phone is in her hand, or that she’s already hit the call button, or that it’s probably three in the morning, until a familiar scratchy voice is greeting her. 

“Ca-yeilth, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, Papa. I didn’t even realize I was calling.” 

“What’s that? A butt-dial?” 

“No, Papa. My hand did it, I just wasn’t paying attention. Sorry I woke you.” 

“You didn’t wake me. My old knee was acting up. Storm’s coming in.” 

“Good storm or bad storm?” 

“A storm is just a storm.” 

“Sure, Papa. Sure,” she can’t help but sigh, exhaustion hitting her like a wave. 

“What did you need, my Katie-girl? That’s not an accidentally-called-you sigh.” 

“I have a—a new friend. Who, um. Just got back from.” 

“Overseas?” 

“Let’s just say a war. And—man, Papa, you know I hate to swear in front of you but he’s all kinds of fucked up.” 

“Little girl, I was a Marine. Not a lot you can say to shock me.” 

"You're my grandpa, I'm not supposed to swear in front of you."

"Did you just call me to not swear?"

"Wow, okay, Papa. This—guy. He’s in fight-or-flight. Hardcore. He’s not going to stay in one place for very long and I want to make sure I help him as much as I can before he bolts. And he’s having trouble eating, sort of? I don’t know—" 

“Well I do. You remember what I would make you when you got sick as a little girl? Me and your grandmother.” 

It’s a slow lightbulb moment, like her brain is waking back up. “Thank you, Papa.” 

“If this friend of yours needs a place to stay—if you trust him, Katie-girl. We’re here.” 

“Read you loud and clear, Papa. Say hi to sobo for me. I gotta grocery shop.” 

“You let me know how it goes Ca-yeilth.” 

“Yes sir, Papa, sir.” 

Kate hangs up, but not before hearing her grandfather chortle. 

He might be laughing at her, but he’s also given her parameters. She’s got a plan. 

She’s also got a meal or two in mind. 

What does being frozen and thawed off-an-on for decades do to a person? Noh had only had it happen twice and he’d regaled her with horror stories about not being able to eat most things for months. She almost asks him, her thumb hovering over the green _call_ button for longer than she'd care to admit. 

 _Just be a fucking adult, you can call him and ask for_ _help._ Kate shoves her phone back in her pocket. She'll call Noh if this doesn't work.

She treks through the aisles. Local honey, just in case. Organic goat’s milk, easier on the stomach. Cheese, butter. Check, check, check.  Flour, oil. Rice. Lots. Of. Rice. 

She almost passes up on the vegetables, but even if he doesn’t eat them, it’ll probably be good for him to at least see green foodstuffs.  

And, you know. Since she’s there. She heads over to the sporting goods section where a very helpful young woman with enviable purple streaks in her hair directs Kate to the sturdiest backpack they carry. Kate strays away from reds and patterns, opting for a navy blue with an insane number of straps.

Kate throws a few more items into the cart, guessing about things like pant size and debating about things like boxers? Briefs? And then wondering what the hell her life has become, trying to figure out how to clothe a fugitive assassin. 

And then, holding a package of socks in one hand and boxers in the other, Kate has the startling revelation that James is a P.O.W. from World War Two. 

Held by an American government organization. 

Man, she shouldn’t be shopping for clothes, she should be shopping for a lawyer. 

Shit. 

=*=

She sits in the parking lot and opens up the notebook. 

She uncaps the pen.

She stares at the page and writes nothing. It's not her place to tell him who he is, but she should have some sort of _something_ written down for him, right? Just in case?

Kate ignores the page in favor of the inside cover.

_Remember to_ _eat_

_R_ _emember to drink water_

_Y_ _ou're a good guy_

_I_ _f you need help call 555-429-5393_

=*=

When she gets back, she is, perhaps, inordinately excited that James hasn’t bolted. 

She's less excited about the fact that he’s standing, dripping, naked, in the middle of the room. 

“Okay, first of all, towels,” Kate shoves past him to the bathroom, grabbing the towels he’s ignored and shoving a few at him. 

“It didn’t make sense to put on my dirty clothes when I just got clean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure what to do about them. They’re sort of bloody.” 

“That’s fine, but you need to dry off.”

"I didn't want to bleed on them."

"You worry about taking care of yourself. _I_ will worry about bloody towels." 

He doesn't look entirely convinced or comfortable, but Kate busies herself digging around in the first load of bags. Kate keeps her eyes firmly glued to her purchases and after a few seconds of her refusing to look at him, he starts to dry off. 

So, Hydra hadn’t been big on modesty. Or eating, probably. Human rights in general. Yay. Her fingers itch for something to shoot. 

Kate finds what she’s looking for and notices trails of blood on the towels James has discarded on the floor. 

“So where are you bleeding?” 

“Head wound. Ribs. Right shoulder.” 

“Nothing on your lower extremities?” 

“No, m—Kate. No, Kate.” 

“Awesome. Here are some pants,” she shoves them at him. “We’re going to have to do some laundry for the other clothes that I bought you, but you need something to wear now.” 

He stares at her. 

“Also, I have some more bags in the car. You put the pants on, I’ll get the rest of the stuff. If that’s okay.” 

She looks at him, and Kate finds herself in a staring contest until finally, finally, he nods. 

“I can do that.” 

“Great!” 

When she comes back in with the rest of her haul, James is sitting, back ramrod straight, on the bed, wet hair tangled and dripping down his shoulders. 

She bought a hair brush; it’s all cool. 

“Can I tell you something?” she says, dropping the bags on the floor. “If I do something you don’t like, or that makes you uncomfortable, tell me. If I sit too close, if I do something you don’t like, even if it’s something that seems small. Tell me, okay? And I’ll do the same for you.” 

“Right,” he nods at her. “All right.” 

“For example, I don’t like large men coming out of the dark and grabbing me.” 

“I don’t like…” he trails off, staring into space. “I don't know.” 

“Well, you have plenty of time to figure out what you do and don't like." 

He looks at her, uncomprehending, but nods. “I’ll make sure not to grab you in the dark.” 

“Now, I don’t have to patch you up right now, if that’ll make you uncomfortable,” she switches gears, “but you’re going to need first aid at some point or you’re just going to keep bleeding.” 

“I can—I’d rather eat first,” he says, flinching back a little as if she’s going to be mad at him for exhibiting human weakness. Or maybe just expressing a want. 

Fucking Hydra.

“Sounds like a plan,” is what she says. “Here’s a hairbrush, also.” 

=*=

Thirty minutes later James has not been able to so much as swallow: bananas, apples, bread, toast, milk, the soda she’d grabbed on a whim, and when she’d made rice with help of the hotplate, he’d gotten a few bites down but hadn’t looked happy about it. 

On the upside, he remembered how to brush his own hair, and at this point, Kate is willing to take any and all wins, regardless of how minor they are.

Well, she’s got one more idea before she packs it in and calls Noh. Which she will absolutely do, she's not that proud. This is just not an ideal circumstance under which to call him.

Kate shoves all that to the side and refocuses on the brainwashed assassin in front of her.  

“I got food poisoning when I was little,” Kate informs James as she pours some oil into the pan and waits for it to heat up. “Really badly. I got super dehydrated, and I was in the hospital for a week. When I came out, I was afraid to eat anything, you know, little kid logic. It was food that had poisoned me.” 

She mixes together the dough with her hands in the ice bucket. _M_ _ake it by hand! Make it with love! People can taste it,_ she can hear Papa say. Also Sobo. Is it normal to hear your grandparents yelling advice in the back of your head?

“Anyway. My mom, she tried noodles and broth and candy and toast and I wouldn’t eat any of it. I was making myself even sicker. So my mom calls her parents. She’s crying, she’s at her wit’s end. And they’d come into town, because I was so sick. Their flight leaves in an hour, so my grandfather comes over from their hotel, and he starts making this. The whole time, telling me stories. By the time his voice was tired, I’d eaten an entire batch of this. Covered in honey, covered in cheese, plain, whatever. Here,” she pulls the first one out, patting the oil off and giving it a drizzle of honey. “See how that tastes.” 

He takes a tentative nibble. Then a larger bite. 

And then it’s gone. 

“More?” she asks. 

He’s staring at the pan, glancing at her hands still covered in dough, licking his lips. 

James hesitates, then nods. 

“All right. Score one for the good guys.” 

His head jerks back. 

“James. Relax. We’re the good guys.” 

“Oh,” his shoulders drop. “Right. Of course.” 

“Hey,” she leans in, resisting the urge to lay what she would consider a comforting hand on him. “Whatever Hydra made you do, okay? You didn’t have a choice. You aren’t the bad guy. They are.” 

He doesn’t look at her when he nods. 

"Do you--" she starts, then stops herself. "What do you remember?"

"Fragments," he says, fists clenching and relaxing. "A blond kid with his fists up. Needles. Pain--"

He starts to shake and the instinct to _help_ overrides common sense, Hawkeye-style, and Kate puts a hand on his arm.

She could have predicted what happens next: he grabs her hand and twists it away before realizing she's not trying to hurt him.

"I'm sorry," he says, eyes wild.

He's afraid of her. It's so ridiculous she wants to laugh, that stupid hysterical laughter that keeps wanting to come out so that she laughs until she cries. The whole situation is ridiculous and terrible.

"It's fine. I shouldn't have done that."

He releases her hand, setting it lightly on his arm. "No, it's—it's fine. I don't think I mind."

"Okay. Cool! Here's the thing, I have a friend who is good with...brain stuff? She might be able to help with your memories, if you want. I can talk to her. See what she thinks." Something in Kate's head itches when she says this, unpleasant but not uncomfortable, exactly.

"If you want." James looks more than a little bewildered, so Kate pats his arm again and stands. "I should probably get back, and you should probably get some rest."

=*=

She doesn't go back to the Bradleys right away. She doesn't want an audience for this and she kind of needs to decompress.

Parked in a darkened rest stop, Kate scrolls through her phone and takes a second to mourn the truly absurd state of her contacts list. Specifically _Doc, Green; Doc, Red;_ and _Doc, Weird_. 

It makes them easier to find, is all. Kate ignores _Doc, Green_ because Banner's number is really only for emergencies and taps on _Doc, Red_. 

 _I_ _have some hypothetical situations to run by you when you get a chance. In person._ _s_ he texts.  She doesn't expect a response—while here it's still stupid early, it's obscenely early upstate, the kind of early where you just want one more goddamn hour of sleep.

 _Fuck you_ is the response she gets. _My alarm goes off in TWENTY MINUTES._

That's about right.

_Don't you TEACH? Be a professional and DRINK COFFEE, you're not a rank amateur._

_I give a guest lecture at NYU next month, is that soon enough?_

_P_ _robs. Will let you know if it's not_

_that's one of the least comforting things you could have said. Are you okay?_

Kate thinks about that one for a lot longer than she should have to.

_P_ _robs_ _?_

>>>\----->

James stays at the motel for an almost solid forty-eight hours. When she goes to the room on day three, it's been scrubbed clean. There's no sign that anyone was ever here.  

Kate tries to take comfort in the fact that he might have taken the backpack with supplies. If he did, eventually he'll find the two addresses and the phone number in the notebook.  

He might show up to those locations to kill her and her family, but optimism is an inherent Hawkeye trait, right along with the disregard for personal safety. It'll be fine.

 _Sometimes it helps to remember if you write lists_ , she'd written in it. 

Kate doesn't forget things, but she knows the merits of writing all your thoughts down, scattered haphazardly over college-ruled paper. 

>>>\----->

When she hits the state line, the windows go down. It’s hot, but that’s expected. The dirt is a rich, orange-red, and the acrid smell of a field burning stuffs itself in her nose and her mouth like cotton. 

When she reaches Guthrie, she doesn’t turn to go to the downtown, she keeps going, turning down a back road, and another, and finally one that used to be gravel (it was exciting when it got paved, she remembers that) 

She wasn’t sure if they’d be home, but the truck is in the drive and there’s a booming bark followed by a familiar voice saying “Oh, Chewie, hush!” 

“It’s just me, Sobo.” 

“What?” an eye peers at Kate between the slats of the fence. “Surely not. My granddaughter would call and let me know she was coming.” 

“Sobo—" 

“Oh, I’ll meet you in the house. Your grandfather is doing one of his projects in the living room, the door should be unlocked.” 

The door is unlocked--the door is always unlocked--and the house is the same familiar strange it always is. 

She can smell something cooking, a combination of spicy and savory she can’t put her hand on; the damp-earth smell of dozens of potted plants. Underneath it all is the smell of cigarette smoke that had permeated the house before Kate had even been born. 

“Papa, why is the living room a construction zone? Papa are you trying to get a concussion?” 

It seems a reasonable line of questioning for a ninety-year-old man lifting a two-by-four over his head. It’s a situation Kate rushes to rectify, lifting the board clear out of his hands. “Papa!” 

“Ah! Ca-yeilth. Good, you’re here. Your grandmother is allowing me to build a loom in the living room.” 

“I am allowing a loom to be built in the living room,” her grandmother calls from the sunroom, the sound of her stomping dirt from her boots echoing to them. “I did not say you could build it.” 

“Oh, snap.” Kate makes a face at Papa. “You done did been told, Papa.” 

“You are an awful, disrespectful child,” he chides. “Put the board down and give your old Papa a hug, then.” 

And since Kate is actually a wonderful, amazing child, she does, in fact, do this. 

“Laura called and said you might drop by.” 

“Laura’s a busybody.” 

“I like Laura. She listens when I talk about gardening and she always has good ideas for what to plant.” 

“It’s kind of her thing.” 

“Hmm? What?” 

“It’s kind of her thing!” Kate raises her voice. “It’s—nevermind.” 

“Well, are you gonna hug me or do I just get to stand here?” 

“Sorry, Sobo,” Kate pulls away from Papa and pushes past Chewie to put her arms around Sobo and give her a gentle squeeze. 

“Are you getting taller? Or am I shrinking?” Sobo asks, pulling Kate down to kiss her cheek. 

“Both, I think.” 

“Oh, yes,” Sobo rolls her eyes at Chewie, who is frantically trying to get Kate to pet him. “Yes, your girl is here, we know.” 

Kate greets the behemoth of a dog with ear scratches and forehead rubs before being ushered into the kitchen. 

It’s been over a decade and the place still holds too much of her mother. It’s home, just in a way that’s more bitter than sweet. 

 =*=

Kate has always felt that she’s disappointed her grandparents somehow. 

They never say that, no. They never act like they think it. But looking at who they are and what they’ve done…she knows how her life looks. Jetset partygirl. Not her mother’s daughter. Not their granddaughter. They don’t...they can’t see that she does help people. 

It’s one of the many reasons she doesn’t come to this house, with its wall full of pictures—Papa in his uniform, Papa receiving service medals, pictures of Sobo shaking a mayor’s hand, a governor’s. 

Kate’s grandparents have stopped plying her with food (for now) and she has a doggie looking up at her with very forlorn eyes as she clears her throat. 

“So, I have a favor to ask.” 

Papa sits up a little straighter, hands folded neatly on the table, his full attention immediately on her. Sobo keeps puttering around but Kate knows that’s no indicator of her paying attention or not. 

“I have this friend,” she starts, and then stops. 

“Would this be the friend you called about last week?” Papa gives her a gentle nudge. 

“Yes.” Kate’s breath exits her in rush. “He—the thing is, he needs help. I don’t think I can help him, but I don’t think he’s going to go around asking for it. He’s got a lot of things he’s dealing with,” she hedges, before realizing she can’t keep information from her elderly grandparents before asking the favor. “He’s kind of that Winter Soldier guy. From DC? And he’s kind of…James Barnes. You know. Bucky Barnes? Steve Rogers’ friend.” 

Her grandmother makes a tut sort of noise while her grandfather raises an eyebrow. “He looks good for his age.” 

“Yeah, there’s—he was frozen, and thawed, and brainwashed by Hydra—" 

“Hydra who was SHIELD?” Papa interrupts. 

“Uh. Yes.” 

He whistles as Sobo finally sits down. 

“Find that young man a good lawyer,” is Sobo’s advice. Sobo is not a fan of lawyers. This is a big deal, and Kate is sort of stunned for a moment. It's not that her grandmother doesn't see the merits of lawyers, right? It's just the attitude of someone who spent a great deal of her life working with cops.

“Right? That’s what I thought, too. But the thing is—the favor is—he needs a place to stay. And he’s not all there, in his mind, yet. But he saved my life and he let me help him. So I was wondering—" 

“An Army boy. In my house.” Papa looks on her with disapproval. 

“Don’t tease the girl, Charles. You know we’re going to say yes.” 

Papa breaks into a grin. “I guess I’ll deal with it.” 

“Now, what I’m more concerned about is what you’re doing that had this fellow needing to save your life,” Sobo stares her down, and Kate gulps. 

There’s a reason Kate doesn’t often visit; it’s hard to lie to someone who doesn’t forget anything, doesn’t matter how good you are at not forgetting what you’ve lied about.

>>>\----->

Kate does, eventually, make it back to New York. After some hesitation, she swings by the Farm first, knowing that if she doesn't Laura will find out that Kate drove past them, which will lead to Laura being stoic and disappointed over the phone. 

Nobody likes disappointing Laura. 

Which is weird, now that Kate thinks about it. They’re all mostly resigned to disappointing each other. She disappoints Natasha, and Nick disappoints her, and on and on.

Still. As soon as she sets foot in his place, Kate is accosted by worried dog and worried Clint and pretending to not be worried Natasha. 

“We were expecting you back a week ago,” Natasha chides, pulling Kate close. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened in Arizona.”

"And someone let slip that you had a head injury," Clint jerks his head towards Natasha. "Nick was all 'manadatory pto!' before he remembered that he's not your boss anymore and also that the place he was the boss of doesn't exist." 

“I stopped to visit my grandparents,” is all Kate says. 

“Without me?” Clint pouts. He loves her Sobo, because she feeds him well and doesn’t mind if he juggles at the table.

“We didn’t know about Cassie,” Natasha finally says. "I'm going to help you find her. _We_ are."

>>>\----->

Kate is back in New York a week when her dad's assistant calls her. Kate thinks he's got a lot of goddamn gall, asking her to represent the Bishops at a black tie gala event, but then, what else should she expect?

It seems like a good idea to go along, to keep her dad's suspicions low.

He's also footing the bill, and Kate's not proud to say she enjoys spending her dad's money.

>>>\---->

She's getting her picture taken by paparazzi and answering the endless stream of "Who are you wearing?" when a buzz goes up. Apparently, Steve Rogers is here.

And Tony Stark.

Kate realizes she probably should have paid more attention to what this event was, now that she thinks about it. 

=*=

Kate finds a quiet corner with a table and chairs and sits herself down. Her full purple skirt takes up half of the space, but it's fine. It's a Statement. 

What is also a statement is your so-called best friend bailing on you at the last minute for, quote, "reasons."

Kate is so busy texting David and dealing with her indignation that he ditched her to go to a bar--a regular bar!!!--that she completely misses someone else in her corner until he's actually looming over her.

"Hi," he says, looking tall and muscular and weirdly and adorably flustered. "Uh. Sorry to intrude, but do you think I could sit here for a minute? If nobody else is?"

"Yeah, sure," she waves him over, taking her feet off of the chair. If she was a more suspicious person, she might think Steve Rogers is following her. But that's laughable. "My date bailed, so nobody's there. You okay?"

Rogers grimaces as he sits. "Yeah. Just, uh, healing."

"Oh, right. Gunshot wounds. Uh. I saw it. On the news."

"Right." He doesn't look like he believes her, not quite, but he also seems as eager as she is to abandon this particular topic. "Your date didn't show? That's rude. Right? That's still considered rude?"

They both know it's not funny, but Kate gives him the sympathy chuckle. "Yeah, apparently this hot guy my friend has a crush on texted him to go get a drink at the last minute and he definitely deserves to get drinks with hot guys—only now he's freaking out about it. I had to keep ducking out of the photo line to debate what he should wear because he was freaking out so badly he couldn't pick an outfit. And now he's twenty minutes early, sitting in a bar by himself, freaking out."

 "What bar?"

“Er, Truth or Consequences. In Hell’s Kitchen.” 

A smile twitches across Steve's face before he schools his expression back to neutral. "I've been there once or twice. Interesting sort of place."

"Yeah, a friend of ours owns it." Kate taps her phone absently against the table as Steve does something on his. He's not paying attention, so she takes the opportunity to slide her shoes off. 

"What did he finally go with?"

"What?"

"Your friend," Steve looks up at her, and how has she not noticed how blue his eyes are? "What did he finally decide to wear?"

"Yellow sweater, blue and white plaid button down. He owns the color yellow, why not go for it, you know?"

"And your friend, he's David?"

"Fucking excuse me." Her voice is dead flat and so is her face, it's the patented Hawkeye _I'll fuck a bitch up_ look and if this dick thinks he can use David as leverage or some shit he's about to find out how wrong he is.

Steve puts his hands up and slides his chair back, just a little, alarm on his face. "No, sorry, it's just—I think my friend is the one who asked him out. I don't know how many Davids wearing yellow sweaters are going to be at Truth or Consequences in Hell's Kitchen tonight, right?"

Kate glares at Steve for longer than is probably necessary. 

"Fine." She tilts her head to the side and shoots him her best death glare. "You're probably right. Let your friend know that if he hurts _my_ friend, I'll kill him."

"Or, I could not do that at all, and you help me give my friend advice on how to make a good impression? He's had a crush on David for months, I want this to go well."

"I feel like you're playing me," Kate says a half-question. "But also I think you and I both know you'll die if you are."

"Is it treason to threaten an American Icon?"

"I don't see your shield anywhere, bro. You're just some dude named Steve."

He looks almost pleased at this, smiling and going a little red around the ears. Kate ignores the blushing and instead scoots her chair around to his side of the table. "What's your friend's name?"

"Sam."

"Okay. Well, tell Sam that David loves mojitos, but he super loves maraschino cherries so have Sam make sure the bartender puts like. Five. Five or more. In his drink."

"Lots of cherries. Got it." Steve sends the text.

Two minutes later, Kate's phone vibrates. 

"Well, I just got a text from Verity—the bartender—to mind my own damn business, they're doing fine on their own, so mission accomplished, I guess?" Kate shrugs and lets her phone clatter down on the table. "Well, that killed ten minutes."

"What do you mean?" Steve fidgets with his bowtie, which is enough of a mess without him helping it along. 

"Oh, come on. You're hiding in a corner just like me, waiting until you've been here long enough and you can bolt in the night."

"I don't know what you mean." He tugs harder at his tie.

"You're a terrible liar, Captain."

"I thought I was just some guy named Steve."

"You are. I was implying Captain Rogers, not Captain America."

Steve smiles at her.

It shouldn't be a big deal, she's seen this guy's smile on papers and posters and in history books, but this is—it's something different. There's an almost instinctive knowledge that this isn't the smile of an American hero—this is the smile of a reckless kid from Brooklyn. Maybe Kate's just still got too much of the Upper East Side in her, but his smile is _bad_ , the kind of smile those dumb bad-boy-good-girl teen romcoms make a living off of. She's kind of into it. 

"Hey," he leans towards her, like he's going to share a secret. "Hey, do you wanna--" 

Which is naturally when Tony finds her, because that's just life.

"You know, Cap, I expected you to be the wallflower, but Kate Bishop. I expected more from you.  Unless you're trying to corrupt the good captain?"

"Seriously, Tony, he was in the army. I don't think _I_ am capable of corrupting him. No offense, Steve."

"Oh, none taken."

"Well, well, well, it's _Steve_ , is it? You're a fast operator."

"Shut it, Stark," Kate shoves her feet in her shoes as she interrupts him. "Are we going to go, or are you going to flirt with the supersoldier?"

"Lemme take you for a spin," Stark says, offering Kate his arm and a roguish grin.

Kate can't help but smile at him then, as he drags her out into the bustle of the gala. 

"Have I mentioned that you're a much better dancer when you're sober?"

"Only every time we've met at one of these since I became Iron Man, Miss Bishop."

"Hmm. And I thought I was subtle." Tony spins her and they glide across the dance floor. 

This is tradition, for them. Ever since she can remember, if there was ever a party that both she and Tony were at, he'd dance with her. At first it had been her mom, wanting to get a picture of the softer side of Tony Stark, but then they'd actually started to like one another. Tony is like her weird cousin who managed to pull his life together. She's danced with him drunk, and high, and depressed. Happy and broken and stupid.

She won't ever tell him she likes him, of course. Their relationship is predicated on dancing better than everyone else and pretending to loathe one another in public. 

"You have to be gentle if you dance with Rogers," he's saying. "He's a very fragile old man."

"Sure, Tony."

"And don't move too fast! I don't know if his heart can take it. But if he needs Viagra--"

"Shut _up,_ Tony!" She'd shove him except he chooses this moment to dip her dramatically. Well played. 

"Kid, I'm just trying to look out for you." 

"You're being gross. I don't want you to say Viagra to me ever again." 

"Spoilsport."

=*=

Tony deposits her back where he found her. Steve, in the interim, has managed to procure three full trays of different appetizers, a bottle of wine, and two trays of desert-type finger foods.

"I'll send any stray waitstaff I see your way," Tony remarks before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "A delight, as always, Kate."

"Oh!" Steve feigns surprise very poorly. "I didn't think you were coming back."

"Yeah. Sorry, I can go--?"

"No, that's not what I meant! Here," he shoves a tray at her. "Try the quiches, they're pretty good."

Kate shoves one whole in her mouth and he's right, they're good. Extra cheese, a little spinach, a spice she can't put her finger on. 

"So you and Tony Stark?"

Kate chews as fast as she can. "Yeah. I've known him for years. He's kind of a mess, but he tries."

"Oh." Steve looks—disappointed? That can't be right. "I thought he and Pepper were together."

It takes Kate a minute to parse out what Steve's saying and another two to stop choking on her ill-timed gulp of wine. "Wow," she finally manages. "No. Absolutely not. I am not _with_ Tony. We're friends. He's practically family."

"Oh. Right! Of course. I'm bad at reading that kind of thing." Steve smiles at the table before looking back up at her. "He said your name was Kate?"

"Oh! Right! I never introduced myself, did I?" _Say it right, say it_ _r_ _ight, don't do the thing_ , "I'm Ha-ugh." Goddamnit. She disguises her slip up as a cough. "Sorry. Kate Bishop."

Steve extends his hand and she shakes it. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bishop."

Ugh. What a cutie.

=*=

They talk and eat and talk and drink and Kate has very firmly decided that Steve Rogers is A+ when her phone buzzes with a text from Tony. 

"Oh, great."

"What?" Steve leans in, and he's really close. Kate isn't sure when he put his arm on the back of her chair, only that she kind of likes it, which is weird, right?

"Apparently some eager journalists are headed our way, though Tony seems to think they're gunning for you, so I don't know why he texted me, but..." Kate trails off, tugging Steve to his feet. "So. I have an idea. Unsure if you will like it."

"Lay it on me."

"Okay, well, first of all, what the hell have you done to your tie?" Now that it's more at her eye level it's obvious and awful. She's got to fix it.

"I—oh. I guess I untied it?"

"May I?" Kate gestures to the bowtie, skewed to the side and half undone.

Rogers goes red around the ears. "Uh, sure. If you wouldn't mind?"

Kate unties the tie, reaching up and _up._ The man is insanely tall. It's ridiculous. The tie itself is an utterly predictable red satin, no pattern, and it makes Kate's soul weep. "You know this gala is themed, right?"

He looks down at her, startled, and Kate has to remind herself that just because she knows him doesn't mean he knows her, and that maybe she should cool it with the attitude. "This is what all the men are wearing."

"Are you all men? No. You're Steve Rogers. I expect better sartorial choices from you."

"You'll have to help me next year. Assuming they invite me back."

"They wouldn't dare not inviting you back," Kate reassures him, retying the tie. "You're Captain America. How would they justify _not_ inviting you?"

"Because I'm a ninety-year-old man?"

"That's ageism. I mean, if you _don't_ want to come that's a good excuse. Throw in something about prunes and Masterpiece Theatre and you're golden."

He laughs and Kate can feel it in her hands. "Okay, so the second part of the plan is we go dive into the sea of people over there and dance, or pretend to dance, until they go away."

" _That's_ your plan?"

"I didn't say it was a good one!"

"Well, I can't dance, so, no offence, it's a terrible plan." He shrugs.

"Can you sway?"

"Sway?"

"Yeah, you know can you rock back and forth, shifting weight from foot to foot?"

He stares at her like she's insane. "Anyone can sway."

"Great. Huzzah! You can dance then. Come on." She holds her hand out to him, wiggling her fingers. "C'mon, Steve. A little party never killed nobody."

He sets his hand in hers, hesitating before closing his grip and squeezing. She drags him away from their table just as he says, "I love Fergie."

Kate stops so abruptly he runs into her and all she can think is _this is the best night ever._

=*=

They dance—they _sway_ , technically—longer than they probably need to. It's just easy to talk and rock. It's easier to talk to him than she thought it would be.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen V for Vendetta,” she’s saying about an hour later. “I mean, for you? It’s just so—topical.” 

“What do you mean, for me?” his eyes narrow at her. 

“You know,” she stares right at him with wide eyes. “A military veteran between the ages of twenty-five and ninety-five.” 

He rolls his eyes at her. "I'll make sure to put it on the list, then."

"And music. I can't believe _Sam_ hasn't given you anything from the early 2000s! No Killers? No Death Cab for Cutie? No Panic! at the Disco? That's a tragedy."

"A tragedy?" He asks, a worrisome little smile crinkling his forehead. "Sure it's a tragedy, and not a sin?"

It takes a minute for what he's said to really sink in, and when it does all she can manage is an affronted gasp. "You. Are. _Trolling_ me!"

"I mean," he says, dodging her pinching fingers. "A little! Just a little. I promise."

He is spared any further retaliation by a harried man in a rumpled tux. "Excuse me, miss. Captain, if you would—there is a—slightly urgent situation I would, ehem, appreciate your help with."

Steve shrugs at Kate, clearly just as confused, and allows himself to be pulled away.

=*=

Steve is back, a large hand wrapping around her elbow and dragging her in the direction he was pulled not five minutes ago.

"Whoa! Watch the hands there, Captain."

"Not now, Hawkeye," he snaps, and Kate momentarily loses control of her jaw. "We've got a situation."

Kate's mouth opens and closes. And opens. And closes. "I'm sorry, who?" She finally manages.

"Really?" He looks a teeny, tiny little bit miffed. "Do you think I'm that dumb? Ain't that a kick in the head."

"You can't just out me and casually quote Frank Sinatra!"

"I didn't out you! I didn't tell anyone! And how are you _supposed_ to quote Sinatra, then?" He hisses as he drags her into an empty corner.

"Uncasually!"

"Ok, well, that's definitely not a real word," and he _smirks_ at her, what an asshole. 

Kate has absolutely nothing to say to that because her jaw has come unhinged. She might splutter a little. “How long have you known?” 

“Really?” he scoffs. “Give me some credit here.” 

“When did you figure it out?” She yanks her arm out of his grasp.

"About five minutes after I sat down with you." 

"Seriously?"

"You have a really distinctive scar on your hand, so, yeah. Wasn't hard. Also you gave me a lot of shit right from the get go, kinda gave it away. Look, you can be pissed about this later, but I do actually need your help."

"Specifically or in general?"

"Both? Both."

"Yeah, no. I'm going to need a little more than that." Kate settles her weight back on her heels, banking on the fact that Steve isn't the kind of guy to drag her off against her will. "I highkey don't believe that's how you knew who I was."

"Fine. Okay." he ducks his head, a flush rising in his cheeks. "I asked Natasha about you. I liked fighting with you in New York. You seemed to know what you were doing, you're a great shot. We could use you."

"'We'?"

"The Avengers."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Can we discuss this later? There's--"

"Wait," she interrupts. "Was _Sam_ in on this whole thing, too? Because if David got played for your little scheme or whatever, I will--"

"Kill me, I know. And no, that was just a happy coincidence. Look, I understand your hesitation, but there's a bomb set to go off in ten—eight minutes. I need your help."

" _Eight minutes_? Why didn't you lead with 'there's a bomb?' Jesus, Steve!"

=*=

The bomb is big but doesn't look particularly complex, so thank heaven for little miracles.

"Do you think we should get Stark over here?" Steve shines her phone light so they can see some of the wires.

"I don't think he knows how to diffuse bombs."

"Do you?"

Kate grimaces. "Sort of?"

"I'll be honest with you, Hawkeye. _Sort of_ is not the comforting phrase I hoped you were gonna say."

"Yeah, well," Kate rolls to her back and wriggles under the table to get better access. "I'm what we've got, so. Sorry to disappoint."

"Miss Bishop, I doubt you've ever disappointed anyone in your life."

Kate freezes in the middle of stripping wires.  "Are you hitting on me?"

"What? No! This is a life-or-death situation, I wouldn't—"

"No, it's okay. It was a good line."

"Oh. Well then." Steve shifts and moves her light, so she uses her foot to shove his hand back to where it was.

"Hold it steady, there, Captain."

"Yes, ma'am."

Six minutes. Kate is stripping the wires to see what goes where when there's a loud bang and the sound of metal scratching against tile.

"Aw, shit," Steve says, standing and leaving Kate in the dark. She wriggles out from under the table to see a bunch of lizard-looking robots scurrying towards them.

“Seriously?” Kate snaps, while Steve goes, “Oh, come on.” 

She reaches under her skirt and pulls out her take-down, hastily assembling the pieces and then yanking out her three emergency arrows. Steve is looking at her with a truly absurd amount of surprise considering he has managed to procure his shield from some equally weird place.

"I don't want to be an alarmist," Steve says as he brings his shield down on one of the robot's heads. "But it's almost like someone wanted someone here dead."

"Don't be paranoid," she says, even though she has a sinking feeling about that. Her dad knows who she is, and he knows that she knows about all of his asshole villainy, and there are two high-profile Avengers here, too, what a boon for an up-and-coming douchebag--

“Motherfucker,” Kate snaps, though even she's unsure if that’s because a robot-tongue has just snaked towards her or if it’s because her dad might be the kind of guy to put a bomb in a public place just to kill her.

One of the bots manages to get past Steve and shock Kate, something that has her flat on her back, muscles locked and teeth clenched, for what feels like an eternity.

When she can move, they have four minutes left. With a growl, she shoots one of the things, and another. "Can you keep them off of me? They're just a distraction and I need to diffuse this thing."

Cap just nods, and she ducks back under the table, cell phone held in her mouth. Kate tunes out the sounds of electricity and Steve's grunts, because him getting tazed won't matter if he's blown to pieces in two minutes.

=*=

It turns out they actually make a pretty good team. 

“I think I owe you a drink or something,” Kate pants as the sprawls back on the floor, fingertips raw from the wires and muscles sore from the robots.  

Steve hesitates before laying down next to her. His tux is ruined, singed through in some places, and Kate has the irrational desire to put her head on his chest and take a nap. 

“Don’t drink,” Steve shrugs. "And if you owe me a drink, I owe you dinner, for getting rid of that." He inclines his chin towards the bomb table.

“Right. That seems fair." Kate isn't sure, it could be the stress, but if kind of sounds like Steve Rogers is asking her on a date, which can't be right. And if it's true, she shouldn't do it. For some reason. She has one. Probably. "Do you think we could do dinner now? Because I'll be honest, I'm fucking starving."

"Don't we need to deal with the explosives?" Steve waves his hand in the general direction of the explosives and Kate feels a touch of unease.

"Are you telling me nobody called the cops?"

“The host-docent-person was supposed to do that."

"Oh good. The cops are going to want to question us. Which means no food. Maybe if you flash your Captain America smile you can get them to leave us alone?” 

“What, this isn’t my Captain America smile?” he turns his head on the floor and grins at her. 

“Pretty sure that’s a Steve Rogers smile. Captain America smiles aren’t so smug.” She laughs, shoving him lightly. “So, how do you want to play this?"

"Play this?"

"We evacuated the Met and disarmed a bomb, and to all of these people, I'm a rando civilian. We gotta get our stories straight."

"Right. Cops. Then dinner?"

"Hold up," Kate turns back at him. "Story first. I don't think I trust your lying abilities. I don't know how you managed on STD."

"STD? Isn't that—oh. _Oh_."

"I want to say that's like, ninety percent of why Clint is no longer a member of Strike Team Delta and why Clint and I were never Strike Team Delta."

"Are you serious?" Steve rolls his head and when he faces her, they're a breath away. How are his eyes _bluer_ up close? That shouldn't be physically possible.

"Yeah, apparently our lack of professionalism in briefings really bothered Sitwell. Also the fact that we weren't Nazis, probably."

Steve hums in agreement. 

"Hey, Rogers. Are we not moving because we're tired, or because of the electricity?"

"Both, I think?" He takes a minute. "Yeah. Both. You okay?"

Kate groans. "I've had worse."

"Oh, yeah. You were one of Rollins' pet projects..." He trails off. "I mean."

"That dickwad," Kate snaps, staring at the ceiling. "Was he bragging about it? Because I'm pretty sure he wasn't supposed to do that."

"He talked about it, but I didn't know what it was until after. I'm sorry. Shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's okay." Her eyes are squeezes shut against the memory of that horrible little house out in the middle of nowhere, where there wasn't anyone to hear your screams, where they couldn't get the bloodstains out any more. She gets trapped there in her nightmares all the time, Rollins sitting across from her, blood on his teeth and--

"Hey." Steve touches her arm with the tips of his fingers, just enough to get her out of the memory. "You were saying you didn't trust my lying abilities?"

>>>\---->

"Are you serious?" Jean pulls out a penlight from god knows where and peels back one of Kate's eyelids, shining the light in the eye. "Are you screwing with me?"

"Jesus, Jean!" Kate bats the woman's hands away, ducking from her grasp. "What is _wrong_ with you? It's just a hypothetical question!"

"About accessing blocked off memories? Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"Did you do it?" Kate realizes. "You did the thing, didn't you? Jean, I _asked_ you to not go poking around in my head—that's weird, normally I can feel it, though."

" _What_?" Now Jean looks as confused as Kate feels. "I don't go into people's heads without permission! I'm in control of my powers, I would _never_ \--"

"Oh my god." Kate holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, fine, Nancy Drew, you are just really good at _sleuthing_ then."

Jean's eyes narrow and she gets that mildly terrifying hey-remember-I'm-bascially-the-most-powerful-person-in-the-world thing going on. "What are you talking about?"

"Bucky Barnes," Kate is utterly bewildered, a sentiment Jean apparently shares. "Wait. What did you think we were talking about?"

There is a split second before Jean composes her face into passive nonchalance. In that split second is relief, and Kate makes sure to file that away for later in a big mental box with flashing lights. "Bucky Barnes," Jean responds, taking a sip of her coffee as if to really drive home the point that she wasn't thinking about something else entirely. 

"Bullll _shit_ _._ "

"If you're going to be rude I'll just leave."

"Okay, well, putting a pin in _that_ and whatever you're not telling me, can we get back to my original question? Mental blocks. Brainwashing. Can you undo it?"

That weird look again. "Well 'brainwashing' is an oversimplified term. Memories don't ever really go away. They don't get written over like computer memory. The brain creates new pathways, and you can physically damage the brain to cut off access to memories or systems, so to speak, but yeah. I could probably reroute a neural pathway to access memories."

"Okay. Okay. Okay."

"Just so I'm clear—we're talking about Bucky Barnes, the assassin, right?"

"No, we're talking about Bucky Barnes the American soldier tortured and brainwashed by the American government."

"Right." That look again. "Okay, well, considering that neither of us know where he is—or only _one_ of us knows where he is—there are alternatives to me. At least to begin with. Now that he's not actively being brainwashed, a lot of those memories might surface on their own. With his brain not constantly fighting against outside intrusions, his short-term memory will definitely get better and I'd imagine his ability to convert short-term to long-term memory will improve as well..." Jean trails off and sighs, probably at the blank look Kate feels like she's wearing. "He'll be able to make new memories, at least," Jean explains. 

"Oh. Oh! That's good!"

"It is. I had—I had David send me the videos. Whatever they did to him to make him strong, whatever serum or radiation—it affects his healing capabilities, and there's no reason for his brain not to be included in that. He might not even need help. But yeah. If he does, I'll help. I owe you that."

"Great. Awesome!" Kate grins and digs into her crepes before pausing. "Wait. What do you owe me for?"

"Something, probably," Jean deadpans.

>>>\------> 

She expects to see James at some point; among the things she’d given him was a piece of paper with her name and phone number, as well as the street she lived on. But not her exact apartment, in case…bad things? Really, the whole idea was probably a poorly thought-out one, one that will wind up with her murdered ass on 60 Minutes. 

Except he’s been following her for three blocks and he hasn’t approached her yet; she’s sitting outside at a coffee place, taking notes for a job, when she feels a prickling at the back of her neck. 

“Are you going to sit?” Kate doesn’t bother to look up from her files. David's been begging her to drop it so she doesn't work on this one in the office, but how is she supposed to let go of it? There's a guy wandering around Hell's Kitchen telling people he's the immortal Iron Fist! It's simply unignorable.

The chair across from her scrapes across the cement and he sits. 

“How are you doing, James?” 

No response, so she clicks her pen shut and looks at him. He looks better. Not good, not exactly, dirty and a little mangy and in desperate need of a haircut. The backpack seems to be living up to the hype of being ultra-durable; she recognizes the shirt he’s wearing. The baseball cap is new, so are the sunglasses and the leather glove covering his metal fingers. Kate feels a small bubble of pride that he's bought things for himself, that he's thinking outside the box. He's surviving, he's okay.

He looks a little bemused, which is probably one of the least negative emotions she’s seen on him. It’s nice. 

“Do you remember my name?” She asks because she’s actually curious. 

“Kate,” her name jerks from his mouth. He lowers his voice, like he’s not sure he’s supposed to say “Hawkeye.” 

His eyes keep roving the street and she has to catch herself from giving an exasperated sigh or latching on to his energy and starting a visual sweep of her own.

“Here,” she says instead, sliding her plate towards him, half a sandwich still left. “Are you hungry?” 

“I don’t need your food.” 

“Do you _want_ my food? I ordered too much anyway.” 

Because she managed to catch a half-glimpse of him thirty minutes ago, and she’d ordered big just in case. 

“If you’re sure.” 

“Positive.” 

His eyes are still darting between her and the turkey and avocado on a croissant, as if flaky pastry will somehow do him great injury— 

“One more bite,” she takes a big chomp out of it. She’s barely swallowed before James is digging in. Another sip of her water, and that’s passed over, too. Given what he’s gone through for—at this point, the majority of his life, Kate can’t say she blames some mistrust. 

“How long are you in town?” 

“However long I need to be.” 

“Seems food is working for you again.” 

“For the most part,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. “It took a while. I, uh. The couple that you said I could stay with. They’ve been helping me. They’re nice. The—Mrs. Little. She’s got a memory like a steel trap.” 

“Makes it hard to lie to her,” Kate supplies with a wry smile. 

“Among other things,” he returns the smile with interest. “How do you know them?” 

“They’re my grandparents, actually.” 

James tilts his head, studying her. “Can’t believe I missed it. Your nose, your chin—you,” he swallows hard. “You asked your family to help me?” 

“I know, I should have told you—don’t worry, Papa is very big on confidentiality. They didn’t call me up with a status report when you stopped by.” 

“Guess not,” he says after a moment. “Since I’ve been by a few times.” 

“Really?” 

He nods. 

“I’m glad you feel comfortable there.” She is, really, but still...it feels like they're talking around something. Kate doesn't mind conversational land mines, she just likes to know what they are.

James finishes the rest of the sandwich and doesn't hesitate to take the rest of her cookie. She stomps down her knee-jerk protest because him eating is a good thing, and if she's got to deal with food thievery then she will. 

“Your family,” he finally says. “You trusted me with them. You—do you know who I am? What I’ve done?” 

“Yes, James, I do.” Kate sighs at the scandalized look on his face. “You were a brainwashed assassin. Who saved my life. Who saved Captain America’s life. At least one of my friends, maybe more. I trust what I’ve seen.” 

She worries her lower lip between her teeth. He deserves to know, but she doesn't talk about this. None of them do, not really, it's still too raw.

“I had—have, I guess—this friend, Cassie. She was on my team. And we thought she died, a few years ago.” Kate squints, trying to find the best way to parse out what she’s feeling. “And as far as we can tell, she was brainwashed and programmed to be an assassin. I’m not even sure if she’s still alive, but. But if she’s out there…” 

“You hope someone will treat her the way you’ve treated me?” James guesses. 

“There are a lot of reasons I’m helping you. That’s one of them. You have the right to know, I’m not entirely altruistic.” It feels weird to admit it, like It's some kind of betrayal. She should be helping him because it's the right thing to do, and she is. She's just also hoping that karma or the universe or _something_ will build a wave of goodwill for Cassie. 

It's stupid, but she can't stop hoping for it.

“You haven’t told me to kill anyone. You haven’t turned me in. You’re—" he struggles for the word. “You’re probably a little stupid. Letting me know so much about you. Trusting me so much.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Kate drawls. “I trust you. Doesn’t mean I’m not aware of how dangerous you are. There’s a difference.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I am aware of how dangerous you are.” James studies her as he says it. 

It takes a minute for her to realize the compliment. When she does, she smiles.

>>>\------>

David losing his job is honestly one of the best things that’s ever happened to Kate. She’ll probably tell him in a few years, after the sting of having no useable work history fades and he becomes marginally less bitter about how he lost his job. 

Having someone to lean on, to depend on; it’s nice in ways she’d forgotten. Being able to talk to him, face to face, is better, too. Kate’s always worked better with another person to bounce ideas off of, and David is a great sounding board. When he’s not mining through SHIELD’s data dump, he helps her with PI stuff. 

It’s good. Great, even. It just makes her miss having a team that could function on a regular basis as a team. 

>>>\---->

James is sitting in her kitchen, bleeding on her cheap linoleum, when Kate comes home for the first time in about a week. She just wants to wash the job away, trying to chase down the Iron Fist and running into the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and then trying to steer both of them away from a few terrified mutant teens--

James is sitting very still at her table.  

A little _too_ still. 

“James?” 

He blinks, glazed eyes suddenly focusing on her. “Oh. You’re back.” 

“Well, this is my home, so, yeah. How long have you been here?” 

 _Please don’t say a week_ _._  

“A day or two.” 

“You could have called me to let me know you were in town. Do you still have my number?” Kate pulls the first aid kit out from under the sink, plopping down in the chair next to Barnes.  

“Nobody has phones any more. Anyway, what if someone was using the party line?” 

Kate’s mind blanks for a hard second—didn’t she explain cell phones to him? What if he’d bled out in her kitchen because she couldn’t be bothered to explain cell phones to him? 

“Hey,” he taps her shoulder. “Hawkeye. I was kidding. You explained to me about phones. I have that one you bought me. I just don’t use it so I can’t be tracked.” 

“Right.” Kate gives herself a mental shake. Three hours of sleep on David’s couch really doesn’t cut it anymore. "So. Where are you bleeding, what did you hurt?"

“I'm fine. Just reasonable collateral damage,” James shrugs, then winces. 

She grinds her teeth and fishes out an alcohol pad. She can see the cut right there on his forehead, and she wipes with a little more force than is wise. James jerks back from her rough hands, and she lets her breath out in an eight count. 

"I'm sorry." Kate dabs a little more gently now, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “You’re not—you getting hurt—“ She takes a deep breath and tries again. “James, you are not acceptable collateral damage—like you’re expendable, or something. No.” 

“Kate,” he ducks his head to look her in the eye. “I am, though.” 

“No, you’re not,” she wipes with a bit too much vehemence again and James winces. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” She blows gently on the raw skin, trying to soothe what she’s irritated. 

“This is sweet of you,” he continues. “You’d have made a terrible handler. They hated when my handlers tried to get attached. Had me kill one or two because of that, I think. At the end of the day, I’m not the most valuable asset.” 

There’s so much wrong with what he’s saying Kate doesn’t know where to begin; all that comes out of her mouth is an enraged squawk.  

"You're not—you're not valuable because you're an asset, you're valuable because you're a _person!"_

"Oh." James looks confused. "Okay. If you say so."

>>>\----->

She and Steve are having coffee when it finally comes up. They’ve been meeting once every few weeks as life allows. Sometimes he asks for PI tips on finding people who don’t want to be found. Sometimes she asks how retirement is treating him. Mostly, they just talk about nothing in a way that leaves her feeling full and satisfied, like she’s just had a good meal. 

This is just her life now; barbeques with the first Captain America and coffee with the current one; one of her favorite people is a nonagenarian that looks like a Millennial. Which is. Weird.

“The Young Avengers are gaining some traction in the media,” is what he says, and for a blissful moment Kate has no idea what he’s talking about. 

“Your team,” he clarifies just as the realization slams into her like a punch. “That’s what the places that think you’re real are calling you. Young Avengers.” 

“Yeah, I’d been ignoring that name.” 

“Well, the papers are calling you that. Not a lot of papers. The Dispatch is one—" 

“It would be,” Kate sighs, digging her thumbs into the corners of her eyes. “Goddamnit, Ben.” 

“So,” curiosity colors Steve’s voice. “Young Avengers.” 

“God, don’t call us that,” Kate groans. “Please.” 

"What? It's cute."

"Steve, we were a highly specialized tactical unit responsible for the downfall of at least one European dictator who I _still_ manage to be friends with. Cute is not the descriptor I'd use."

"All right then. Did you have a name?"

"Designation Yankee Alpha. We were _not_ the varsity team."

Steve's smile is an easy thing and it dissolves some of the tension in her shoulders. "Well, they got your initials right, at least."

"Yeah, the _only_ think they got right," Kate scoffs. "They think we're all teenagers."

"If you want to stay hidden, that's a good thing though, right?"

He's got her there. It's just—they don't want credit. They, quite literally, _cannot_ have credit. Their lives depend on it. It's just hard not to want thanks—or at least accuracy.

"It was easier when they just thought we were the Avengers."

"That can be arranged," Steve says, serious now. "We could use you. We could use your whole team."

“You don't know anything about my team."

"I know a little." He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I know you, a little. You're proud of them, and you want to protect them. That tells me a lot. That tells me I'd be lucky if any of you decided to join us."

"I'll pass that along."

"And anyway," Steve tucks his hands behind his head. "I can always pick the brain of the leader of the Young Avengers, right?"

Kate wads up her straw wrapper and throws it at him. "Shut _up_. Even if we did have some dumb name, it wouldn't be that."

"What would it be?" Steve leans forward so suddenly the table jumps.

"It would be _something else_."

"You dropped the bait," he points out. "You wanted me to ask, so don't get jumpy just because I do."

Her cheeks get hot. Steve is absurdly good at social cues, which makes it weird that he's so bad at people sometimes. "Okay, fine, but you need to understand something. We’re nerds, and history buffs. Like, all of us.” She shakes her head. “This is so weird to tell you. So history is important to us, as a unit. Specifically World War Two. For Eli—well, for all of us because of Cap—but specifically Eli. When Teddy’s dad was a kid, he saw you do one of your buy bonds shows—he was raised with the whole hero thing. My Grandpa served in the Marines during—" 

“Your grandfather?” Steve interrupts, leaning forward. 

“Relax, Steve,” this time, her laugh is genuine. “I’m pretty sure he would have mentioned meeting you. He served in the Pacific theatre, anyway.” she shakes her head, trying to get back on track. “So that’s important to us. And, I mean, I love Peggy Carter.” 

She has to stop looking at Steve, opting to stare at the hanging plant behind him. 

“Who doesn’t love Peggy Carter? My Grandpa met her, once. Watched her rip Howard Stark about uranium mining. You should see him tell that story, it’s just great, honestly. And Cassie’s grandfather was actually—" she has to look at him, she owes him that much. “He was a Commando.” 

Steve’s brow puckers in confusion. 

“A Howling Commando,” she clarifies, and then wishes she’d continued to not look at Steve, at the way his face lights up and then crumples. 

“Who?” his voice is low. 

“Dum Dum,” Kate starts to smile involuntarily. “I met him a couple of times. Cassie’s family was always good to me—everyone’s family, really.” That’s a different story though, one that involves an absentee father and a dead mother and families of chance and families of choice. “Anyway, one day, we’re all flying home after a mission, banged up, bleeding a little, and we start talking about it. And then we realized…” she trails off, smiling because she can’t help it, fond and sad. “That’s who we were like.” 

“Like Dum Dum?” Steve still looks confused. 

“No,” Kate smiles at Steve now. “Like the Howling Commandos. We were—we really thought—we fooled ourselves into thinking we were the Howling Commandos of our day. Eli never liked that idea. Too much baggage that comes with stuff like that, with sharing a name.” 

“But not yours?” 

She shrugs. “Nothing wrong with honoring the place you came from, right? You have to know who you are to figure out who you want to become. Sometimes it helps to have reminders.” 

One of the many things she and Eli disagreed on. And she hadn’t always felt like that; she’d balked at being Hawkeye—but there’s so much more than her in that name. So much more than tired tropes or stereotypes. Hawkeye isn’t just Clint or Kate—it lets them become something more. Eli hadn’t ever felt that way. 

"We thought we were the legacy of the Howling Commandos."

"Who's to say you aren’t?" Steve's voice holds a challenge.

"Who's to say it's relevant? Maybe we could have been. Maybe we were. But things changed, and we've had to find our own way. It's not bad or good, just different. We're still a damn good team."

Steve stares at her, and Kate feels like she's said too much, that this is too personal, but in all the wrong ways.

"Are you _sure_ I can't convince you to join the Avengers? Because damn."

Kate rolls her eyes at him again—honestly, they're probably just going to roll out of her head someday soon. "Ask me next week."

"Okay. I will."

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I hc poc! Kate, I typically also hc her as being mixed, and that her mother is/was whatever nationality or ethnicity we're going with. Considering her mother died when Kate was young, but not an infant, I think it's reasonable to think that Kate and Susan could have pulled away from Eleanor's side of the family-or that they were young enough that Derek would have been able to pull them away from that part of their family. Grief does things to people. (I also don't do the new Lemire version of Eleanor--in the first run of YA we learn that her mother worked in soup kitchens and Kate seemed to look up to her; enough to follow in her footsteps to a certain extent) That being said, I'm not sure how clear it all was, but here is my explanation of Kate's maternal grandparents.  
> Kate's grandfather, Charles, is a member of the Navajo Nation. he was one of the Marines in the Navajo Codetalkers program during WWII. The Navajo Codetalkers were stationed in the Pacific Theatre. he continued to serve in the US Marines until he retired in the late 80s, maybe even the early 90s. The last base he was stationed at was Fort Sill, in Oklahoma, which is why they live in Oklahoma and not in the Southwest.  
> Kate's grandmother is Japanese. She and Kate's grandfather were married when he was stationed in Japan; she was brought to the states as part of one of the War Brides programs. Like Kate, she has a perfect memory and worked as a secretary for several police stations in the 60s-70s. (because when you remember everything, you need to put that into use). I would have loved for her to be a detective, but that seems highly unlikely given the time period.  
> I don't know how likely any of these things are, but the fact is that they are, as far as I can tell, completely possible, and that's all that mattered to me.  
> (Ca-yeilth means "quiver" and was also one of the words used as part of the code. i'm not positive when that code became declassified, but I like the idea of him giving his granddaughters nicknames from that.)  
> I also enjoy playing around with the idea that all of the Young Avengers have special powers or skills or family ties to SHIELD with the exception of Kate. I'm playing around with her being Morita's granddaughter in a few things, but for this fic, I really liked that she's the only person on her team that people look at and kind of go, "Wait, how did you get in here? Wasn't the door locked?"  
> As a final note, I'm not positive Sobo is the correct thing for Kate to call her grandmother? I am unsure as to if this is actually the informal vs. formal form of the word. Feel free to point out any inaccuracies.


	6. Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate is trying really hard, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More slice of life. I didn't anticipate this becoming a Kate Bishop character study, but, well. These things happen.  
> updated 11/28/17  
> references to torture  
> steve got game  
> bucky making questionable choices

James is staring at her refrigerator. 

Which, to be fair, he kind of does a lot, like he expects food to magically leap from it into his mouth. Hell, for all she knows, Hydra told him that’s what happened to all the good little assassins when they got hungry. 

He also has a tendency to stick his head in the freezer, which Kate hasn’t gotten around to asking him about, mostly because he looks peaceful when he does pull his head out. Not just creepy blank-mind calm, but rested. 

“You look happy in most of these,” he tilts his head towards the pictures. 

“In most of them, I am happy,” she concedes, standing next to him and mimicking his posture, arms crossed, head tilted. 

“Not this one,” he points to one of her and Susan and her dad. It’s from her high school graduation. 

“I missed my mom a lot that day,” she informs him. It’s weird to thank that _that’s_ the reason she was sad in that picture. Not because Derek was a criminal, or an asshole, or because Susan didn’t understand why Kate and their father had a falling out—just normal sadness. 

“Your mom?” 

“She died when I was thirteen.” Kate glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Kinda surprised you didn’t figure that one out.” 

“I’d guessed fifteen,” he admits. “Your grandparents have a lot of photos.” 

“That is an understatement.” Kate laughs, but James’ nose wrinkles because apparently he can tell when she’s faking it. “Mom was a photographer. It’s how she met my dad.” 

The statement feels incomplete, like it’s waiting for her to finish it, but she doesn’t. 

“You’re trying to be happy in this one,” James taps the edge of a shot of her and Laura in full bee-gear, Laura’s arm slung over Kate’s shoulders, the photo off-center to capture the new hives in the background. 

“That was after Cassie,” Kate tugs the photo from its magnetic anchor and hands it to him. “That’s Laura, she’s—she is weirdly good at helping people put themselves back together.” 

“What’s with the gear?” 

“Bees.” 

He looks at her like this is somehow not an actual explanation. 

“We’d just set up a colony in those hives, and she said I should have a picture of it. Laura is a firm believer in hard work being a good antidote to feeling—“ 

“Sad?” 

“Like a miserable failure. _If you feel like you’ve destroyed something, then your next step should be to build something_ ,” Kate recites. “There’s a reason everything at the Farm is in a constant state of renovation. She usually tries to direct our energy into her projects, but she’s only human.” 

“She looks kind.” He hands the picture back to her. 

“She is.” Kate can see his eyes take in the other pictures, of her and the boys, one of her and David from last New Year’s in glittery hats and glasses, a few pictures of Lucky, of Lucky and Clint, because yes, she does have a million pictures of her dog, suck it. One of Tasha and Clint arm wrestling, a stupidly adorable selfie of Teddy and Billy. 

Two Kate hasn’t seen before, which means Natasha is sneaking into Kate’s apartment again, and they’re going to have to have a talk about that again. 

The first is from the day she and Clint ran into Natasha and Steve, and she and Steve had both been wearing _No Sleep_ _Til_ _Brooklyn_ shirts (which is officially the worst meet-cute idea Natasha’s ever had, not that Kate will ever tell her this). Steve has his arm slung over her shoulders and they’re both wearing huge sunglasses that make Steve look ridiculous and Kate look awesome. He'd dragged them to a little hole-in-the-wall art gallery which turned out to be the first of many art expeditions. 

And then there’s one that Natasha clearly pulled from a security feed like the Queen of Inappropriate Espionage that she is. Kate isn’t sure what mission it’s from, one of the ones where they needed a Hawkeye and Clint was busy—the Centipede bust a month back, must be. She looks like she just got done telling someone to go fuck themselves while Steve is unsuccessfully trying not to laugh beside her. 

“Here,” she snags the second one, handing it to James. “Take it, so every time you’re about to do something stupid, you can look at it and remember what my face does when you do stupid stuff.” 

He holds the picture gently in his hand. “You sure?” 

“Sure,” she shrugs. “It’s good to have pictures of friends. Sometimes helps you feel less alone. Sometimes not.” 

He nods at her before crossing to his pack and tucking the photo carefully into his notebook. 

“I think I’d like to hug you, if that’s all right?” he says, oddly formal for a man in a ratty undershirt and sweatpants. 

“A hug sounds great, James.” 

>>>\----->

Keeping tabs of the charges that can potentially be levied against them is a hobby for Kate and what’s left of her team. There is a dry erase board, color coded (purple, red, green, lime green, orange) and divided into categories: obstructing an investigation, assault, battery, property damage, so on and so forth. There is also a portion of the board dedicated to the total dollar amount the news reports they have cost the city. 

“I mean, sure,” Tommy says. “We destroyed a freighter but we also destroyed the Doombots on it? I don’t get why everyone is so mad.” 

Teddy shrugs. “They want somebody telling us to get rid of the Doombots?” 

“You know how I feel about chain of command,” David kicks his feet up on to the table. “Kinda bogs things down.” 

Billy shoves David’s feet back to the floor. “I mean, I can understand that. But who’s gonna regulate people like us? After SHIELD I don’t trust the government.” 

“Maybe we don’t worry about that until there’s actually something there for us to worry about?” Kate pretends to ask; it’s not really a request. “David, the Avengers are going to be out and about, somewhere southeast Asia. Any chatter about vulnerable targets Stateside?” 

>>>\----->

“Hey,” Steve grins at her. He’s got the kind of smile that makes _you_ smile. Spending time with Steve is really cutting in to how believable her murderface is. “So, there’s an exhibit on modern photography I thought it might be fun to go to. I have tickets to the opening.” 

He drops a brochure in her lap. Kate only has to glance at the cover before she says, “No, sorry, can’t go. I have a thing that night.” 

“A thing?” 

“That night, yeah.” 

“What kind of thing?” 

“A thing, Steve! It’s just a thing. What does it matter?” 

“It matters because you’re upset.” He sits next to her on the bench and Kate has the sudden urge to cry or lash out or both. This isn't what they do. What they do is banter and fight crime and _occasionally_ spar. They don't do emotional stuff, not like this. This is—this is-- 

She takes a deep breath. The brochure is crumpled in her hand. 

“Kate,” he says softly, bumping her shoulder with his. “Last week I called you at three AM in a panic, and you talked me down from a nightmare. You’re allowed to ask for help.” 

Is she, though? Maybe they aren't just banter buddies?

“You know that, right? Whether you’re Hawkeye or Kate, you can always ask for help,” he straightens his posture, puts on a different voice. “Captain America is always ready to help you.” 

Her laugh is more of a watery chuckle. “And what about Steve?” 

“Oh, well,” he settles back, stretching his arms along the back of the bench. “I thought you knew that. Steve Rogers is—" he stops himself with a shake of his head. “ _I’m_ always here. Whenever you need me. Whatever you need me for.” 

He’s looking at her, open and earnest and so _intense_ her breath catches in her throat for a second. He hesitates, motions unusually jerky, as he reaches for her face and gently tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

" _Whatever_ you need me for," he repeats, and oh god, is that—is he--

Kate clears her throat and pulls back, slightly horrified to realize she's leaning into his touch. 

Get it together, Hawkeye.

She grabs his hand. 

“C’mon,” she drags him off the bench and down the street. 

“C’mon where?” he lets himself be dragged, which she takes as a kindness. If he'd dug his heels in, she'd probably lose that arm. 

“I have an errand to run, and now you’re running it with me.” 

They go several blocks, cross a few streets, flip off a taxi--well, Kate flips off the taxi, Steve swears at the driver--and duck into a museum. She and Steve stand in front of a sign that says _Modern Portrait Photography: A Retrospective._  

“Your errand is at the exhibit you didn’t want to see?” Steve sounds disbelieving as they walk up to the gallery. 

“I’m sorry, miss, we’re not open ye—" 

“Katherine!” a woman roughly as tall as a giraffe interrupts the bespectacled docent. “So good to see you!” 

“Inez, good to see you too,” Kate offers her a half-smile. 

“Did you find that piece?” 

“I did,” Kate drops Steve's hand and reaches into her bag. Her hand stalls halfway, not quite able to pull out the wrapped frame she's been carrying around all day, debating doing what she's doing now. 

 _Do it, do it, just do it._ She pulls it all the way out but doesn't hand it over, _can't_ hand it over.

“Where was it, if I may ask?” 

“On my wall.” 

“Ah,” Inez smiles at her then, not the _give me your money and art_ smile, but a sympathetic one. “Of course. If I may?” She gestures towards the bundle in Kate’s hand, and after a second of intense internal debate, Kate hands it over. 

“We saved a spot for it,” Inez says with a grin. “I knew you’d find it.” 

“How do you know my dad didn’t have it?” 

“Kate, I know you well enough to know you wouldn’t let your father have this, if you could help it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—" 

“One thing, Inez. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to make the opening and I was wondering if my friend and I could—" 

“Oh!” Inez takes in Steve as if she’s seeing him for the first time. With Inez, it's very possible she _didn't_ notice him; she's always been a little prone to tunnel vision. “Captain. A pleasure. Absolutely, Kate. Give us a moment, though, to finish setting up her section, all right?” Inez bends down to brush a kiss to Kate’s cheek. “Thank you, again. I know how much this means to you.” She squeezes Kate's elbow before rushing off. 

“So, is the thing you have on opening night that you stole art from your father, or...?" 

“No,” Kate heads in the direction Inez disappeared, and doesn’t wait to see if Steve is following her. 

“Here we are,” Inez says with a smile once Kate’s reached her. “I’ll give you a moment, shall I?” She disappears, probably to yell at people for not hanging art correctly. To be fair, she might not do that anymore, but Kate’s first memory of the woman was her doing exactly that, and she’ll probably always see her that way. A million feet tall, berating someone for not knowing how to use a level. 

And Kate is stalling. Stalling and staring into space, not wanting to look at the portraits in front of her. Ignoring everything around her so hard she misses Steve coming up behind her until he speaks. 

“Eleanor Bishop,” he reads off one of the plaques on the wall. “Your mother?” 

“Inez used to run this little gallery where mom would show her work. Dad would always try and convince her to show someplace else, but she and Inez met on this—I don’t know, one of those cross-country-find-yourself trips when they were in their twenties.” 

Steve moves up next to her and looks at the portrait she definitely isn’t looking at. 

“My mother’s name was Sarah,” he says softly. “She was a nurse. We had this old upright piano that she loved. She wasn’t very good, but when she sat down at it—she wasn’t just my mother, you know? She was something else. She taught me to play.” 

“I didn’t know you play piano.” 

“Don’t much, not anymore. She used to trade piano lessons for me. Got a friend of hers to teach me how to draw, another to paint, while she taught their kids to play piano.” 

“My mom wasn’t ever musical,” Kate admits. “Artistic, sure, but musical?” she pulls a face. “It’s why she wanted Susan and I to learn an instrument. Susan’s a flautist. I think she liked saying ‘flautist’ more than she actually liked playing the flute.” Steve chuckles and Kate is surprised to find his hand in hers, fingers slotted together. 

"What do you play?"

"Cello. Still play."

"Cello. That, uh. Has a bow, right?" Steve tries and fails not to smile. "I'd like to hear you play sometime."

She leans on him, just a little. Lets the sense memory of wood humming under her fingers and ear take over for a second.

“She did good work,” Steve inclines his head toward her mother's photographs. 

“She had a knack for portraits,” the words spill out of her. “I think she always wanted to be one of those photojournalists who captures moments of—of epic triumph or tragedy, but she was always better with people. She could just—she could get people to look at her, you know? In a way that you could see their stories in their eyes.” 

Kate is staring at _Self-Portrait, 2002_ like she’s never seen it before, staring until it blurs. 

“You think, eventually, you’ll stop missing people,” she says. 

“Yeah,” Steve squeezes her hand. “But you never really do.” 

Kate loses track of the time, and Steve doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to move, or move her. She leans against him without realizing it. Solid, immoveable, Steve. 

It's almost like she's in a trance, only jolted out of it by Steve's stomach growling. 

"I'm sorry," he looks stricken. 

Kate laughs and it feels nice, it feels right and okay to laugh and not be sad. "Let me buy you dinner, Steve."

"Yeah?" He searches her face. "Okay. Yeah. Dinner."

They leave the gallery, and Kate's empty palm itches to be pressed back against Steve's. 

_Nope. Nope. Nope._

 =*=

“I need a favor,” Kate says to Darcy over steaming cups of overpriced coffee. 

Darcy levels her with a look of suspicion that is not _entirely_ unwarranted, given their general history. There's not a lot of it, but most of it involves explosives and aliens. 

“The last time you needed a favor it involved gooey aliens," _there it is._ "I don’t know if I’m down for that.” 

“C’mon, Darce,” Kate wheedles, pushing the cinnamon roll over to Darcy. “It’s a _fun_ favor. It involves dinner. And nice clothes. That’s not bad, right? That's _totally_ nice, isn't it?” 

“I’m not pretending to be your girlfriend at a family event again, Kate.” 

Kate stares. Then glares. Then rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t need you to go out with me, I need you to go out with a friend. _Not me_. On, like, a friend date. But it can be a real date if you want!” Kate’s grin is a bit forced, her enthusiasm a little strained. “He’s sort of. Not the best at dating.” 

“If it’s Tommy, no. If it’s Eli, yes.” 

Kate deflates all of the sudden. 

“It’s, um, well, it’s actually Steve Rogers.” 

“Captain America?” Darcy doesn’t quite shout. She leans forward, hissing, “You want me to go on a date with _Captain America_?” 

“No,” Kate snaps. “I want you to go on a date with _Steve Rogers_ , there’s a difference.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Darcy rolls her eyes. “Since when are you and _Captain America_ buddy enough that you’re setting him up on dates?” 

“Since it’s none of your business. Also, um, never let him make coffee. For future reference.” 

“I don’t even want to know how you came by that knowledge.” Darcy’s eyebrow quirks. “So why me?” 

“Because I think you’d like each other.” 

Darcy looks at Kate like she is a pile of data about to be organized to death. “Why don’t _you_ just go out with him?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah. I mean, you’re clearly trying to set me up with him to deny the fact that you want to set yourself up with him.” 

“Clearly? How is that clearly? C’mon, Darce,” she wheedles. “Think of your Instagram followers.” 

“How dare you use them against me, Katherine Bishop. My Instagram followers are precious baby butterflies, I will not let you use them against me.” 

“Darcy. Please.” 

“Why is this so important to you? I mean, you obviously like the guy. I thought the two of you were for reals dating. Which, considering how a few years ago you had a dartboard with his face on it—" 

“No I didn’t!” 

“Yeah, all right, but you thought about it. What’s the deal?” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Did you have sex with him?” 

“What? No!"

"Do you _want_ to have sex with him? No judgements!"

"Darcy, it’s complicated for other reasons. Work reasons. And if you go out with him, I’ll stop wanting to go out with him.” 

Darcy stares at her, unblinking, for a few moments. “That is, without a doubt, the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me, up to and including ‘watch this’ and ‘we won’t get caught’. What's going on?” 

“Nothing! Nothing is going on. Fine, you don’t want to—" 

“Oh, I’ll hang out with him. That man needs more friends who aren’t spysassins. But you need to dig yourself out of that little denial pile you’ve buried yourself under,” Darcy gestures emphatically with a fork. “Got it?” 

Kate concedes with a sigh. “Got it. So how’s work?” 

“I am going to accept your subject change only because work is awesome,” Darcy again gestures with the fork. “So Stark decided that he and Jane and Banner should try working out of the same lab for collaborative purposes and for the past month every day I’ve been moving Banner’s desk one inch closer to the door. He hasn’t noticed.” 

“That’s like two feet. How has he not noticed?” 

“Dude, I don’t know, but Stark noticed and every inch adds money to my year-end bonus.” 

“What, like a dollar for every inch?” 

“Sort of? He said he’s using the Fibonacci sequence to calculate it but I don’t believe him.” 

“Why?” 

“Because that would mean that my year-end bonus is going to be like, half a million dollars.” 

“Darcy, I would believe stranger things of Stark.” 

“I think I’m going to ask for my bonus in the form of an Iron Man suit.” 

 =*=

“Hey, Papa. How’s things?” 

“Good, good,Ca-yeilth. How’s that boy?” 

“What boy?” She throws a pen from her desk at David’s head as he laughs at her. 

“What boy, she says. The boy! The boy with the metal arm! Hard to forget!” 

“Papa. He’s not really a boy. Honestly. Also, I am at work and my partner is laughing at me.” 

“What is it you kids say? ‘Whatever’? I don’t believe you.” 

“What’d you need, Papa?” 

“Who says I have to call you because I need something? I was just checking up on you. How are you doing, sweetheart?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Just okay?” 

“I mean. I have two broken ribs. So yeah, okay.” 

“Broken ribs!” Sobo hollers. “Why do you have broken ribs?” 

“Papa, why am I on speakerphone?” 

“What? I don’t know! I can’t hear you! Goodbye, Ca-yeilth, I love you!” 

Kate pulls her phone away from her ear, staring at it. 

“Did your Grandpa just ‘oops, I’m going through a tunnel’ you? Isn’t he, like, a hundred? Damn.” 

“That is not helpful, David,” she chucks another pen at him. “Ooowww.” 

“I know you want me to feel sorry for you, since you went in first and you got kicked by the cranky guy—“ 

“Drug runner. He was a drug runner, David.” 

“Whatever. You’re the one throwing pens. Which are now mine, by the way.” 

“Futz.” 

>>>\----> 

Kate has lived through many terrifying events, including but not limited to: alien invasions, vengeful robot ladies, hit men hired by her father, wearing a bridesmaid's dress, and facing down Hydra agents, but it still scares the shit out of her when lightning illuminates the night, revealing a hulking figure standing on her fire escape. 

Reflex has her diving behind her sofa, heart pounding; her higher thought processes are quickly ticking down the list of people with that height and build who are likely to be standing outside her window for any reason. 

It takes about thirty seconds for her to settle on James; forty seconds for him to call “Sorry,” through the glass. 

“There’s this thing,” Kate informs him, throwing open her window. “Called a door.” 

“First you want me to wait for you to open the window, now you want me to use the door. You’re demanding.” He jokes. The joking is pretty new, a few months now. He reaches for her, hesitating a second before pulling her into a hug. 

The hesitation is new, too; normally he hems and haws before asking. Kate wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes for all she’s worth. 

He seems startled, as he usually does, before squeezing back. 

He’s touched-starved, and Kate doesn’t care that he's had quickies in bars, there’s a difference between anonymous sex and a good hug. She’d spit coffee out when he’d told her about the sex, it’d been completely out of the blue. And she’d asked him if he’d used protection and he’d looked at her, quizzically, “I always have a weapon on me. You know that.” 

Which. That had been an interesting conversation. 

“How’s things?” her voice is muffled by his chest. “Saw there was an explosion in Johannesburg, thought that was you.” 

“It was.” 

It’s sort of surprising that James is an excellent hugger. He hugs like he means it. Hugs that you just melt in to. 

“Hydra training facility,” he says eventually. “An older one. Not as good of a target as I’d have liked.” 

“Baby steps,” she reminds him. “Ripple effect.” 

They stay like that for a few minutes until whatever residual tension he’s carrying leaches out of him and he steps back with a sigh. 

“What can I do for you, then? Hungry?” Kate asks as he swings his pack to the floor. 

“I don’t just come to you for food, you know.” 

“But you often come to me for food,” she points out, surveying him with a critical eye. “Did your hair catch on fire when you blew that place up? Jesus!” she circles him, taking in the uneven length of his hair. If he didn’t look so able to kill, he could probably pull it off as a mod thing. As it is, though… 

“Yeah,” he grimaces. “Is it that noticeable?” 

“Kinda?” Kate bites her lip. “Yeah.” 

He runs his hand through the strands. “You’re always offering to give me haircuts.” 

“Yeah, well, short hair is easier to maintain for a supersoldier constantly on the go.” She retorts. 

In response, he tangles his fingers through the very ends of her ponytail and gives a light tug. 

“I have constant access to a shower and haircare products,” she sniffs. “Whereas you look like you lost your comb.” 

“’Cause I did. Well. Didn’t lose it, exactly.” 

“What, did you sharpen it into a shiv and use it to kill a guy?” 

James blinks at her, mouth open a little. “Uh…” 

“Jesus. Okay, well, have spares.” 

He stares at her like he’s looking for something, but she doesn’t know what. After what seems like an eternity, he nods. “Haircut.” 

“Cool,” she shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Clear out the sink, would you? If you don’t mind me washing your hair so I can see what the damage is.” 

James’ lips twitch, almost as if he’s fighting a smile. “Yes’m.” 

She rolls her eyes at him before flouncing off to grab shampoo and towels. 

When she gets back with her supplies, James is leaning against the counter, shirt already off and arms crossed across his chest. Kate fights the urge to drag her eyes down to the scarring across his pecs, to the place where metal meets skin. 

The fact that she even wants to feel like some sort of betrayal. She drops the towel on the table before hip-checking James away from the sink, turning the water on to let it get warm. Kate is so focused on the running water that she doesn’t even realize that he’s snagged the scissors from her back pocket until he’s twirling them on a finger. “Awful sharp scissors here, Hawkeye.” 

“They’re fabric scissors,” she holds her hand under the water to check the temperature. “We’re never telling my team that I used them to cut hair, agreed?” 

James shrugs. “What did you need fabric scissors for?” 

She bites back a sigh. “Because I can’t run around in a SHIELD tac suit, it’s too obvious. We’ve been creating new uniforms and just generally being thankful Wiccan was a theatre major for two years before switching.” 

James’ eyebrow goes up. 

“He knows how to sew,” she clarifies. “Which is more than the rest of us could say.” 

“Can’t just wear regular civilian clothes?” 

“Not all of us are indestructible. We’re trying to strike a balance between function and utility. And blending in. On the plus side, nobody has come up with a good enough argument as to why I can’t wear knee-high boots with extra arrows strapped to the side. The negatives are pretty much everything else.” She flicks her fingers against the side of the sink, then gestures. “If you wouldn’t mind?” 

Their conversation stops for a few minutes as Kate works some shampoo through his hair. She keeps her touch light, trying to be quick and efficient until a sigh whooshes out of him and his body relaxes. She massages his scalp a little, thinking about how it’s amazing she’s even allowed to touch his head, considering the last people to do so were brainwashing him. 

James makes a noise in the back of his throat and Kate’s hands still. 

“That feels—“ he splutters around the water. “Nice. That’s nice. I like this.” 

Kate resumes her ministrations, thinking about the videos she and David have pored through of Hydra’s brainwashing machines. Metal curving around his head and wiping his memories away so there’s nothing left but pain. James may be perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but if anyone so much as touches a hair on his head with ill intent, Kate is perfectly willing to fling that person into the sun on his behalf. 

She rinses one last time before shutting the water off and wringing his hair out. With her focus redirected, she notices a shiny length of new skin curving along his neck. Given what she’s seen of his healing abilities and how recently he was in Johannesburg, this is less than comforting. Any lower-degree burn would have healed more completely; if she’s still seeing bright pink new skin— 

Kate inhales to a five-count while wrapping his head in the towel, waiting until he’s upright before addressing it. 

“It wasn’t just your hair that got singed, was it?” She manages to sound…mostly not-accusing. 

His nonchalant shrug is infuriating. 

“How bad was it?” 

Another shrug. 

“Are you—are you okay?” 

“I’m here, walking and talking. I’m fine.” 

Kate’s eyes feel hot as she pulls out a chair and gestures for him to sit. 

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” 

“I’m not—" Kate sets down the scissors so she doesn't look quite so...stabby. “No. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—just because you heal faster doesn’t mean I enjoy that you get injured, okay?” She picks the scissors back up, not even bothering to comb through some of his tangles, just cutting them out. 

“The job got done,” he says. “That’s what’s important.” 

“No, actually, you’re what’s important.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Snip, snip, snip. Dark pieces of hair drop from her fingers. 

“Ma’am?” 

“Don’t ma’am me.” 

“You’re angry.” 

Snip, snip. “Yes.” 

“I’m not sure what I did wrong.” 

Sni—p. “I’m not mad at you. If I was mad at you, I’d be yelling at you. Sorry. I’m just—every time I think I can’t hate Hydra any more,” snip, drip, snip. “You’re a person. You’re important regardless of how many Hydra bases you destroy. When you hurt, that matters. Your physical well-being is important. _You’re_ important.” 

Silence fills the room to bursting. 

“I’d been to that facility before,” it’s said like a confession. “I didn’t think. I just knew it had to come down. It’s not like it was before.” 

Before when he hadn’t quite gotten that pain wasn’t the end result of everything, when he’d show up with busted knuckles and black eyes and broken ribs and _I completed the mission, this is just collateral_ _._  

“Hydra took a lot from you,” are the words Kate settles on. “I just don’t think they should get to take anything else. That’s just my opinion.” 

“Okay.” 

The silence is less oppressive, this time. 

 =*=

Kate is brushing stray hairs off of James’ shoulders when the lightning and gusts of wind stop teasing and the rain finally comes. 

“First rain of summer,” she muses. Then, “First rain of summer!” 

The first rain of summer, the first rain that isn’t cold, wet drizzle. 

Kate grins at James, combing her fingers through his newly-shorn hair one last time before darting out the window and up the fire escape. 

“Wait, what?” he hollers after her. 

“Rain!” she yells back. 

If he says anything else, she doesn’t hear it, because it starts to pour. Water ricochets off the grating as she clambers up to the roof. 

Kate stretches her arms out, water hitting her and the roll of thunder echoing in her ears, the cacophony of rain hitting the metal of the buildings. She lets herself feel small and insignificant for a moment. 

Maybe she's being ridiculous. People get excited about snow, or thaws, not rain. 

No rain was the worst part about California, obviously not including hit-and-runs. A lump rises in her throat and she remembers her mom loading them up in the car, driving to find a storm. Kate can almost feel the weight of the camera in her hands, the smell of film chemicals as they switched out a roll. Eleanor Bishop and her camera, trying to capture lightning cracking the sky into pieces, the way sunlight filtered through rain caught on the leaves--

It seems silly and selfish to think about losing her mother when she knows people who have lost everything, when there's a man in her apartment who had everything _taken_ from him, and she has to remind herself that it’s not a competition about who’s been hurt worse. 

“Kate!” the sound of someone charging up the rickety fire escape overshadows the storm for a second. “Jesus Christ, what the hell?” 

Kate gapes at James, since that’s the most negative emotion he’s ever expressed in her presence. He almost never yells at her, and it's sort of miraculous. He’s panting from having vaulted up over the low wall and he looks—no, it _can’t_ be worry she sees on his face. 

“What’s wrong?” he shouts over the sound of the storm. 

“Nothing!” she says. “Nothing!” She’s starting to get chilled but that doesn’t stop her from spinning around on the roof in her bare feet, a laugh bubbling in the back of her throat.  

Lightning forks the sky, illuminating the sharp lines of New York. 

Lightning. 

_Shit._

“James! You should go inside. You have a metal arm. You’re basically a lightning rod!” Kate realizes. “Go! Go, get inside,” she makes a shooing gesture with her hands. 

He shrugs a slow smile spreading across his face as the rain plasters his newly-shorn hair down. “Not like I never considered it might be electricity that killed me.” 

Kate gapes at him as he tilts his head back. 

Lightning is followed by thunder, one, two, three, four, five, six—BOOM. 

“Okay,” her words are lost in the storm. “Okay, then.” 

Kate moves to stand next to James, shoulder to shoulder, before sliding her hand into his, lacing her fingers through metal ones. She can feel him jump a little before giving her a gentle squeeze. 

Kate loses track of how long they stand like that. 

=*=

The next morning James stares at her as she makes pancakes. He stares at her while pouring orange juice; he stares at her while they eat. 

"Oh my God," Kate can't hold it in any more. "What? You're freaking me out." 

"I scared you last night." 

"Yes. You were lurking. We've talked about this." 

"I want you to not be afraid of me." 

"James--" Kate struggles for words, flustered at his misinterpretation. "I'm not afraid of _you_. I'm afraid of large men lurking on my fire escape." 

"But you should be afraid of me." He squares his shoulders before continuing. "I want to work with you, train you, on how to take me out. If you ever need to." 

"No." 

"Kate," he implores her with his eyes, looking out at her from under his shorn hair. "I still have nightmares about what I've done. Who I've hurt. I can't hurt you. Please." 

 How is she supposed to say no to that? Part of her wants to, wants to hold fast to the idea that he wouldn't hurt her, that she trusts him.  

Part of her isn't that dumb—or naive—or hopeful. She's realistic. No one is unbreakable. James in front of her right now is proof of that. So is Natasha. So is Clint. If they can break, so can she—so _will_ she, because she hasn't been injected with who even knows what, she's not a super-agent, she's just—well, she's awesome, sure. But she's just a regular human, standard issue, no upgrades.

"Kate," he says her name again, reaching out his hands to hold hers. The gesture startles her. "I don't want to scare you, but I could kill you. I'd rather be dead than that. Let me--" he closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "Do this for me, Kate. Please." 

James doesn't ask for...much of anything. She squeezes his hands, one rough and warm that gives; the other smooth, unyielding metal.  

He can teach her how to kill him, but he can't make her actually be able to. 

Kate swallows hard. "Okay."

=*= 

Kate remembers Phil and Rollins asking her to learn a new skill—one that would protect her team, one that would give her one last line of defense. 

"Let me give you this," Jack had said. "It's not a weapon. No one will be able to see it, but it will be armor that you will have, and knowing that you have it will make you that much more dangerous."

She'd been stupid, okay? Young and stupid and so eager to prove herself, to be as good as Clint and Natasha, to keep up with her superpowered, supersuited teammates.

In the end, it hadn't felt like Rollins had given her anything. He'd just taken and taken and taken from her, and called it a gift. 

This isn't like that. 

James hurts her as little as he can. And unlike Rollins, unlike what happened in that dim cellar in a SHIELD safehouse, her weaknesses don't feel weak. _Don't think about it, don't think about the nails and the_ _electricity_ _and the bamboo and the water, don't think about it don't think about it..._

James is a good teacher, and weaknesses are a source of opportunity, a chance to learn. 

Her high pain tolerance does leave him a little incredulous. 

"I popped your rib out," he informs her as she's doubled over, panting. "And you didn't say anything." The accusation is clear in his voice. "Are you trying to make me...not feel bad?" 

"What? No," Kate prods at her side, wincing. "I have—I'm good at blocking pain out." 

She chews her lip and considers the assassin in front of her, and how much he has trusted her with. "Uh. So, one of my SHIELD trainings was..." She rubs her hands together, _just say it, it's_ fine, is what she's doing with her hands called "wringing"? She takes another breath. "How to withstand enhanced interrogation."

He looks at her, totally blank, and suddenly she realizes that she doesn't even know how long that euphemism's been around, and she'd laugh if it wasn't awful and didn't make her feel stupid.

"Torture. They wanted me to be able to withstand torture. Though, knowing what I know now about SHIELD-slash-Hydra, I kind of wonder if they were all just yukking it up at me in the back, you know?

"They tortured you." James' voice is flat and his eyes are dead. 

"Yeah." It's weird to talk about. She doesn't even like thinking about it, for obvious reasons. "My team's handler suggested it, which is weird, Phil was never a _bad guy_ , how much did he really sign off on? I was the only nonpowered in our group and if anyone knew that, it would make me the easy target. Get the regular girl, crack her like an egg. Only...I won't crack." The words spill out of her and won't stop coming—she doesn't talk about this, she _doesn't._ David knows, because he does, and _everybody_ who knows she and her team were overseen by SHIELD probably know because the information is _right there--_

James is almost on top of her by this point, towering over her as if he could scare off the bad memories just by looking pissed. Quicker than breathing, his metal hand is at her jaw, cupping her face and tilting it just so. 

Kate tries not to breathe, not sure what's happening and afraid to break the moment.  

"Who?" He asks. 

There are a lot of whos it could be, but she knows which one he means. "Rollins. Jack." 

He nods at her, still not seeming to realize he's touching her. 

"And he's mine, James. I swear to god if he "falls off" a balcony I'm going to be so pissed at you."

"If you're sure. I can make it last a long time. Make him really regret his choices." His smirk twists her stomach around itself because _wow_ that should probably be terrifying and yet. 

"He's _mine_ , Barnes."

"Yes, Ma'am." 

"I'm serious."

"Of course, ma'am."

>>>\---->

“Oh my god it’s a monster!” Kate shrieks as a tiny dinosaur leaps on her. 

Or, well, at her legs. 

“Aunt Kitty!” 

“It’s the Coopersaurus!” Kate swings the toddler up and around. “Raaaar! How you doin’, little man?” 

“Kitty,” Cooper tugs at her hair. “Kitty Hawk?” 

“Yes, Coopersaurus?” 

“Kittyhawk, are you staying? Have you seen _Finding Nemo_? I like Dory.” 

“Me too, pal.” 

“Hey, Coop, sweetie, can you give me and Kitty a minute?” 

“Okay, mommy!” Coopersaurus skips back into the Farm. 

“So, what’s with the dino costume?” Kate drapes her arm over Laura’s shoulder and they meander to the porch. 

“It’s just the age. Everything is dinosaurs.” Laura sighs. “So, are you going to stick around for the four-hundredth showing of _Finding Nemo_ , or was this just a courtesy call?”   

“I think I can stay for dinner and a movie.” 

“Aww, there’s our favorite Kittyhawk!” Laura pulls her close. “You look good, Kate. You really do. You look happier than I‘ve seen you in a while. You’re smiling. Just, automatically.” 

The only reason Kate realizes she is smiling is because she feels it freeze on her face and slowly slide off. 

“Oh, Katie, Katie, no! I’m sorry, I just—“ 

Kate doesn’t even know what’s happening, she just knows that sometimes, here, everything is so normal—and everything else seems like too much. Laura pulls Kate into a hug. “Hey, hey. You’re home, it’s okay.” 

This is why Kate's been avoiding the Farm. It's a place where nobody expects you to save the world, or fight evil, whatever that may be. Laura expects you to chip in, not be a hero. She expects you to be human.  

Sometimes Kate forgets how to do that. That it's okay to be sad, it's okay to be happy. Everything going on with James is a _lot_ , and so is all the stuff she needs to do to get Cassie back--

“Kittyhawk, are you okay?” a sticky hand tugs at her shirt. 

“Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine,” Kate gives a wet sniffle. “I’m just talking to your mom about planting some bee-friendly plants. What do you think?” 

“Sounds like a great idea, right Cooper? Maybe we can even take Lila, right?” 

“Oo-kaaay, I guess,” Cooper says, grabbing at her hand. “C’mon, Kittyhawk, daddy’s super excited to see you. And mamotchka. Not papa, though. He got grumpy.” 

Kate allowed him to drag her into the house, trying not to stomp on his dinosaur tail, twisting around to mouth _Kittyhawk_ _?_ at Laura, who unhelpfully just shrugs and laughs. 

=*=

Days at the Farm are soft. Her muscles ache, but it's from work and not beatings and there's always something tangible at the end of the day that you can point to and go "this is what I did today". 

Of course, it's impossible to avoid Nick here, but they stay out of each other's way for the most part. 

Well, they would, but Laura delights in interference. 

Kate's working on setting up more hives, struggling with their bulk, when suddenly the weight is lifted. "Thanks."

They set the empty hive upright and Kate brushes her hands on her pants. "Oh. It's you."

"It's me," Nick nods. 

"I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

"Are you the one who told Steve I have to have ten hours of sleep post-op? Because fucking thanks for that, by the way."

Nick levels her with a look that's a lot less intimidating when he's not head-to-toe black leather. "I'm not the only person who knows that. It was Laura."

"Oh, so you're a _sellout_ now, is that it?"

"You know what, Bishop? I've apologized to you. I can't take back what happened, but I can help you moving forward. Are you going to be a child, or are you going to be an agent?"

"I'm not an agent! I haven't been one! You can't keep pulling that crap you did when I worked for you because _I don't work for you_. You're not my boss."

"No, but I am a part of this family, and so are you."

Kate chokes on air and shoves his chest. "I thought you were _dead_!"

"You were supposed to."

Kate pushes past him, pacing the little knoll they are on. "You know what really pisses me off?"

"I have no idea," Nick says in his dry director voice.

"That I _get_ why you did it, and part of me thinks, 'Oh, gee I can't be mad at you, you were trying to do the right thing' and that's the _worst_. I want to be mad at you. I should get to be mad at you."

Kate throws herself under a tree.

"You know," Nick sits slowly, one of his knees popping right next to her ear. "You can feel more than one thing at a time. You're not Tinkerbell."

Kate sits up to stare at him.

"What? Like I don't know who Tinkerbell is? I have a little girl, Bishop."

Kate stares at the sky through the shifting leaves. "Everything is bullshit."

"Yeah, it is," he agrees with her, leaning back against the tree trunk. "So are you gonna help clean it up, or are you gonna sit here and complain about the smell?"

"I'm not complaining about the smell. I'm complaining about you."

"Let me know when you want me to hand you a shovel."

>>>\---->

“Kate! Kate!” 

Someone is shaking her, fingers pressed against her neck—not in a murder-way but in a oh-God-does-she-have-a-pulse way. 

She snaps awake. “James? James, I’m awake, I’m awake, what’s wrong?” 

“Shit,” he collapses to his knees next to her bed. “Fuck. I’m—I’m sorry. I just—" 

She sighs. “Nightmare?” 

He nods to the floor, his still-short hair not hiding the wide-eyed horror on his face. 

“You killed me?” 

His head snaps up. “How did you—" 

“I can’t even tell you how many times Clint woke me up like that after the Battle of New York. Of how many times I woke my team up like this. Can I--?” she lets her hand hover in the air above his shoulder until he nods and she touches him. 

“When did they stop?” his voice shakes, just a little, but more than she’s ever heard from him. 

“I still get them, sometimes,” she admits. “The ones about Tommy aren’t so bad, usually we’re in a car together and he starts bitching about my driving and so I just drive us over a cliff.” 

James huffs a laugh. “It’s not the same thing.” 

“No, but it made you smile,” she points out. “C’mon. You can share the bed with me tonight.” 

“No, Kate, I couldn’t—" 

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just—we eventually figured out that it was easier to sleep close to the people you were having nightmares about.” 

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he fades out of the room, into the shadows, and comes back half a minute later with the blankets and pillows from the couch. 

“If you want,” Kate says as he settles in, tucking a gun under her nightstand. She rolls to her side, facing him. “There’s already a knife between the mattress and box springs.” 

He nods approvingly. 

“Good night, James.” 

“Good night, Hawkeye.” 

 =*=  

Kate wakes up halfway through the night to find her arm asleep, her fingers and James’ metal ones laced together. He appears to be fast asleep as well, so it’s hard to tell who the hand-holding instigator is. She falls back asleep before dwelling too much on it. 

=*=

She wakes up again to that weird half-asleep false feeling of falling. Her bed feels a lot lumpier and harder than she remembers, but also warmer and snugglier. She’s got pins and needles in her arm, but she falls back asleep before the discomfort can really register. 

=*=

“Ow,” Kate says, greeting the morning with the altogether too-familiar feeling of _what_ _the futz_ _did I do yesterday_. She’d thought her bed was hard, but she’s not on her bed, she’s on the floor, and also, like. Halfway on James. His metal shoulder is warm under her cheek—warm from _her_ why is that _doing_ things for her—and she's probably got some of those weird red pressure lines on her face from being smooshed up against him.

“Either you rolled off of your bed last night, or I pulled you off of it in my sleep,” his voice is unusually loud, though that’s probably more to do with the fact that her ear is against his chest than actual volume. 

“I feel like it was probably a combo,” she pushes off of him to sit up and look at him. “I half woke up at one point and we were holding hands.” 

“Holding hands?” he props himself up and looks askance at her.    

“Don’t worry, I don’t have cooties.” 

“What the hell are cooties?” 

“It’s—kids, on the playground. Girls and boys don’t want to play with each other, they’re rude to each other, they act like the other group has, like a disease the other can catch. Cooties.” 

He raises his eyebrows at her, lips twitching, and she punches him in the shoulder. 

“Barnes, are you screwing with me? Seriously?” 

“I just wanted to hear you try and explain cooties,” he says. 

A terrifying assassin is rolling on her floor, laughing at her, because he’s a _troll_. 

Honestly, that’s about on par with the week. 

 =*=

_“This is Scott Lang! If you don’t know what to do after the tone, then I’m not sure why you’re calling me?”_

BEEP  

“Hey, Scott. It’s Kate. Again. I really need to talk to you. This isn’t the sort of thing I want to leave a message about, okay? Please call me. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but. It’s important. You know I wouldn’t call unless it was important.” 

>>>\---->

“If he doesn’t want to be found, Steve, he doesn’t want to be found,” Kate sighs. Steve is looking at her in surprise. “It’s not like it’s hard to figure out. You ask me for advice on how to find people. You’re looking for Barnes. And he’s not a teenager, or a runaway, or a criminal. If he wants to stay hidden, then hidden he will stay.” 

“So when you say that you can’t help me—" 

“I mean that I won’t help you,” she concludes with a nod. “I’m sorry, Steve, I am.” 

In the months that they’ve been spending time together, Kate’s come to know Steve Rogers’ expressions pretty well. And in all that time, she can count on one hand the number of times he’s looked at her as Captain America outside of a job. 

He’s doing it now. Disapproval, disappointment, anger—and something else, all of these emotions play across his face. “You know where he is.” 

The words aren’t an accusation. They are said with quiet certainty. 

Betrayed. He looks _betrayed_ , and that’s not Captain America, that’s Steve Rogers. _I'm your friend and I lied to you_.

“I don’t,” Kate says with certainty, meaning to stop there, but the words feel like they’re getting pulled out of her with meathooks and she can't shut up. “Not…currently.” 

“Shit,” Steve throws himself back in his seat, covering his face with his hand. “Shit. How—were you—shit.” 

Steve swallows hard several times, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “Is he—is he all right?” 

Kate picks her words carefully. “He’s—getting there.” 

“How long?” 

“I’m not telling you that.” 

“Yeah, you’ve been doing that a lot, I guess,” Steve’s laugh is flat. “Not telling me things. I really thought—" he cuts himself off. “With everything you’ve found out about Cassie—I thought you would have been on my side. Would you want someone to hide information about Cassie from you? You blame yourself for what happened to her, and you want me to believe you wouldn't be angry if someone didn't tell you they knew where she was?” He shakes his head. The anger rolling off of him in waves so strong Kate swears she can taste it. “Forget it. I think we’re done.” 

“Yeah,” the words escape her before she can think better of them. “Yeah, I think we are.” 

Steve stands with enough force to send his chair skidding back before Kate’s brain catches up with her mouth, and by that point he’s halfway across the room. 

“You know what? No, we’re not done." They are in public and she doesn't care. She should, but she doesn't. "You want to be mad at me, fine. I probably deserve it. But you don’t have any _goddamn right_ to throw Cassie in my face like that, or pretend that I just decided to do this to fuck with you. _Your_ side? Jesus, Steve, you don’t have a side in this! There’s his side, and everybody else!” 

“And I’m on his side! Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“Because he asked me not to! Every day I think, _I should tell Steve_. I should tell him _something_. But I didn’t. You know why? Because if Cassie went to someone I knew and trusted, and she asked them to help her--I would want them to. And if she’d asked them not to tell me, if she wasn’t ready, I would want that person to do what Cassie had asked them. I would’ve been upset. But I would understand. Because I’m not the important person in that scenario. Cassie is.” 

He strides back to her, voice low. “That’s bullshit, Hawkeye—" 

“Really? Why? You know what, Steve? I wanted to tell you. Because I know how I feel. And I know how much it hurts to—to not know,” she grits her teeth together. “You want to be angry at me, that’s fine. Be angry at me for the right reason.” 

“Yeah? What’s the right reason?” 

“You’re mad that he came to me and not you. And you can’t be mad at him, so you’ll settle for hating me. Which is fine. I can take it.” Kate takes a deep, shaky breath _I know because that's how I would feel_. “And _now_ we’re done.” 

=*=

It is, of course, just her fucking luck that James is waiting on her couch when she gets back from…whatever just happened with Steve. A breakup? A friend breakup? Whatever you call it, it makes her want to curl up with a pint of ice cream and a fluffy blanket. Or punch a bad guy. Or use an exploding arrow. A bunch of exploding arrows.

“James,” she drops her keys onto her table. “What can I do for you? Food, bandages, hugs?” 

He opens his mouth, closes it. Scratches at the back of his neck with his hand, ducking his head. 

“Spit it out, dude, I don’t have the energy.” 

“It’s just—if you could call me Bucky? I asked Charles to the last time I was there—it just feels better than James.” 

“Okay,” she squeezes her eyes shut. “Bucky, then. What can I do for you, Bucky?” 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing. Nothing happened. What can I do for you?” 

“Kate. This,” he gestures to the two of them. “This works both ways. You help me. Let me help you.” 

Kate bangs her head against the wall a few times. Sympathy from James—Bucky, she wonders what the significance is of that—the man who’s trust she has just betrayed, is not what she deserves. 

“Whoa there, whoa there,” he jumps up, sliding his hand between her head and the wall. “You keep telling me my brain is important. I have to assume that holds true for yours too.” 

“Don’t be nice to me.” 

“I’ll be nice to you if I want to be nice to you.” 

"You shouldn't."

"Why?" Convinced she won't try and bang her head on the wall any more, James— _Bucky—_ rests his hand on her shoulder.

“I told Steve. That you and I have been in contact. I didn’t tell him—anything else. I’m sorry. I know I didn’t have the right.” 

“You hadn’t told him before?” His fingers tap against her forehead. “I’m surprised. I figured you had.” 

Kate looks at him out of the corner of her eye. “What do you mean?” 

“I know you’re friends—" 

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell him. And I did. I broke that promise—" 

Kate is really getting into her stride for self-flagellation which is why it’s sort of surprising when her whole train of thought gets derailed by James tilting her chin up and kissing her. His lips are soft and dry, and it’s just—a quick press of lips before it’s over. 

“Uh. What?” 

“Sorry. Was that not—I thought I’d try it.” 

“Try kissing?” Kate is utterly mystified. 

“Kissing you. That probably wasn’t the right time, was it?” 

“Probably not.” Kate studies him through narrowed eyes before rolling on to her toes, pressing her mouth back to his. Her tongue flicks out to touch his lower lip and he shudders. She lets him pull back. 

 _WHAT ARE YOU DOING,_ part of her screams. _Okay, do I ever know what I'm doing?_

“Weird?” Kate asks, catching her lower lip in her teeth. 

“Third time’s a charm?” His thumb moves from her chin to her lip, pulling it free of her teeth. They each take a second to reposition; he widens his stance to lessen the height difference and she threads her fingers though his hair, and then— 

It’s like he’s taking extra care to be gentle with her, as if she’ll startle. And it’s nice, it is, but it just doesn’t feel—like he’s really into it. Which is one of those _you should have known better_ things. She’ll beat herself up for it later, she thinks, sighing. 

Which is when JamesBucky—BuckyJames?—decides to press the opportunity provided by her mouth being open, sliding his tongue along hers, and that. _That_ is a completely different story. 

James—Bucky, she corrects—tastes faintly of metal and ice, nothing and everything all at once. Her fingers tighten in his hair and she’s surprised that he seems to like it. The cold of his metal hand seeps through her clothes as he trails it down her side to grab her hip, pulling her closer. 

He moves back just enough that he can pull her lower lip with his teeth before planting a trail of kisses down her neck. 

Where he bites. 

“Oh!” It feels like the sound is rattled from her as she tugs on Bucky’s hair with enough force that he pulls back. “We gotta—we gotta pump the breaks, my friend.” 

“Why?” his pupils are huge as he asks, his breath shallow. 

Fuck if she knows why. 

“Uh. Because,” shit, Hawkeye, think, put the words together. “Because you are—you’re my friend. And you’re still trying to figure out who you are. Right?” 

He gives her a half-nod. “Sort of.” 

“And. Uh.” 

“You think it’s a bad idea?” 

“I think it’s a bad idea right now,” she clarifies. 

“When is it going to be a good idea? A week? A year? Three years? All we got’s right now.” 

Kate stares at him for a minute before he steps back sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“You’ve given that speech before?” 

“Worked before. Figured I’d give it a shot.” 

“Dare I ask who?” The words come out unbidden, and Bucky stares right at her. 

“Steve.” 

Which, well, not like there hasn’t been rampant speculation about the exact nature of the relationship between Captain America and one James Buchanan Barnes but it’s sort of different to be confronted with the reality of it. For a split second, the image of Bucky slamming Steve against a wall, kissing and biting and grinding, flashes through her brain. The end-of-the-world pickup line. Apocalypse sex. _Think about something else._

“That was—that was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?” 

“No, it’s fine,” Kate manages. “Just. Huh.” 

He stands there, looking sheepish and increasingly nervous before she manages to say, “Well, I’d hate to ruin your track record with the ‘we should have sex because it’s the end of the world’ speech.” 

"Yeah?"

A deep breath. 

This is probably a bad idea. 

Bucky leans his forehead against hers. "I really like you," he confesses. When he blinks, his eyelashes are so long Kate swears she can feel them brush her cheeks. "But I don't want to do the wrong thing."

"Maybe," she says, trying to think around the voice in the back of her head that's just screaming _DO IT DO IT DO IT DO ITTTTT._ "Maybe we see if we still feel the same way the next time you come around?"

"Yeah. Okay." He nods against her. "No need to rush."

They spend the rest of the night making out on the couch. What were they supposed to do, _not_ make out on the couch? 

>>>\---->

The next time he shows up, Steve still isn't talking to her and David's been upstate for two weeks.

And, okay, he doesn't show up the way one might _expect_ him to show up—at her apartment.

You know, what, fine, what happens is he finds her fighting an unknown foe in Central Park while Doreen leaps from tree to tree.

Doreen had actually called Kate, which was good because whenever she thinks about it, Kate realizes that for some reason she doesn't remember what Doreen's number is, or where, exactly, she lives. 

Squirrel Girl's been tracking something dark and formless in the park for a few weeks; the squirrels are all terrified of it, excepting Tippy-Toe because she's not scared of anything, apparently.

It's nanites, probably. Nanites with a pissy attitude and the ability to become sharp and weapon-like, as evidenced by the scratches on Kate's arms. The swarm moves in a pattern that Tippy-Toe counts out in squirrel-speak as Doreen drags the thing around the treetops. 

A wavelike pattern— _shit._ Kate jams the EMP arrow she'd been getting ready to use back in her quiver and fumbles for another. Doreen had been complaining of a headache, Tippy too. The things are communicating on an ultra-high frequency and Kate waits until the crest of the pattern to fire a sonic arrow into the middle of the nanites. 

It's a great moment, and Kate is very proud. Or she would be, except that part of the swarm lagged behind, and manages to regroup. They look black and oily, whipcord thin as they charge towards her, striking her back so hard Kate can _feel_ her skin open.

She ignores the feeling of her own blood sliding down her back and waits for the second approach. Tippy is chittering away in her ear.

One...

Two....

 _Three_.

She slams her last sonic arrow into the ground, and the nanites collapse into another pile, glittery black dust. 

Panting, Hawkeye drops to her knees. "Good work, Tippy-Toe."

 _Chirrit_.

Kate reaches around herself, wincing as she prods her new injury. The gash starts at her hip and stops somewhere midback, she thinks, and it burns like _anything_.

"Mother _fucker_ ," she mutters just as Doreen bounces up.

"You really shouldn't swear, Hawkeye."

Kate grunts.

"Also, I'm not sure if we should be worried, but that Winter Soldier guy is running towards us." Doreen jumps easily over Kate, putting her body between Kate and Bucky. 

"Halt!" Doreen says, hand outstretched.

"It's okay," Kate manages, gritting her teeth and swallowing down her pain. "We're friends."

"Oh!" Doreen's stance changes instantly, straightening as her tail twitches in excitement. "Oh _good_ , I hated the idea of him all by himself, it was super sad. I always thought he just needed a friend and here he's got you, that's great!"

Bucky has a gun out, and Kate's really not a fan of the fact that he's aiming it at Doreen's head, so she grits her teeth and stands like a Hawkeye. 

"It's all right, Bucky," she waves him off. The waving is a bad idea; she sucks air in through her teeth and reminds herself that this is now a perfectly acceptable time to acknowledge her pain. "This is Squirrel Girl. She's a friend."

"Aww, thanks, Hawkeye! I'm Squirrel Girl," she says, extending her hand to a very confused Bucky, and Kate can't help but laugh as Bucky hesitantly holsters his weapon and takes her hand.

"I'm...Bucky."

"Yeah, I know. Hawkeye just told me."

Bucky kicks at a pile of nanites. "Should we do something about these before they reactivate?"

No sooner has he asked than Doreen's squirrel mafia descends on the pile, scooping them into a shoebox covered and lined with tinfoil. 

"Got it covered, dude," Doreen smiles and punches him lightly in the arm. "We'll drop it off at Tony Stark's doorstep."

Tony? Kate's about to protest before deciding that she certainly doesn't want to deal with this, and Tony has more resources than she does anyway, and then there's the whole weird friendship he and Doreen have.

"Yeah, okay." Kate does not succeed in hiding her grimace. "It can be Tony's problem."

"Do you need to get to a hospital?" Doreen ducks behind Kate. "Yikes. That's not great looking. You're probably going to need stitches. C'mon. Let's get you to a medical professional."

"Nope." Kate twists out of Doreen's grasp and only succeeds in hurting herself more.

"Hawkeye," Bucky gives her a warning look, which is new. "Hold still."

She does, mostly, while Bucky circles her. 

He lets out a low whistle. "That's impressive."

"Gee. Thank you."

"Squirrel Girl is right. It's going to need stitches." He moves so he's back in front of her, so he can look her in the eyes. "Let's get you back home and I'll do it myself."

=*=

Kate isn't exactly moving quickly so Doreen is waiting at her building by the time she and Bucky make it there.

"I dropped the nanites off for Tony with a thank-you note," Doreen says, because she's Doreen and of course she left a note. "C'mon, Hawkeye, let's get you fixed up!"

"How do you know where I live?"

Doreen taps the side of her nose with a finger. "Squirrel powers, remember? And you're bleeding. That made it easier."

Right. Of course. They don't talk as they make their way up to the seventh floor, and Doreen doesn't comment when Bucky pulls a key out of his jacket for Kate's apartment, and she doesn't say anything when Bucky sits Kate at her table and grabs her first aid kit without even hunting for it. Doreen is practically vibrating with the desire to say something.

"You don't have to stay, Doreen."

"I want to! No offence, Mr. Bucky, but I don't know you, and even if Hawkeye trusts you I'd rather stay a while."

"No offence taken," Bucky says. He's behind Kate, cutting away at her suit so she doesn't have to struggle with it, and Kate can hear the smile in his voice. "From what I understand, Hawkeyes don't have a good perception of danger, so it's nice to know someone's looking out for her."

"I'm _right here_ ," Kate points out. "Don't talk trash about me to my face."

"Technically, he's doing it behind your back." Doreen smiles and reaches her hands across the table to Kate. "Here, you can squeeze my hands when he starts to sew you up."

"Thanks, Doreen, but I'll be fine."

This is almost immediately disproven when Kate lets out a small cry of pain as Bucky pours something that stings on her back.

"I'm assuming this is what the cheap vodka was for," he says, setting the bottle on the table next to her as she grabs Doreen's hands.

"Why else would I have cheap vodka?" She mutters.

For Kate, that's the worst of it. She checks out as Bucky sews her shut, lulled into complacency by the heat of Tippy-Toe on her lap and the cadence of Bucky and Doreen's voices. They're laughing a lot, and that warms Kate, too. Doreen in a sweet person, and Bucky can always use more friends. It's nice to hear them having fun—or at least speaking in a tone of voice that implies fun is being had. 

"Kate?" Bucky sits down in front of her, snapping latex gloves off. "How you doin', doll?"

"I'm fine. How many?"

"Twenty-two," Doreen informs her. "Do you want me to stay with you? You're kinda all glassy-eyed."

Kate blinks a few times in quick succession. "No, I'm okay, thanks though. I know you've got stuff, and a life, and I don't want you to, you know...." She trails off when Doreen just _stares_ at her. "What?"

"We're _friends,_ Hawkeye. It's not an inconvenience to take care of a _friend_ _."_

Doreen is the sweetest person on the planet, bar none. 

"It's okay, I'll be fine. I'm just going to stare at my fridge for thirty minutes and then go to bed."

Doreen gives Kate a once-over and nods, seemingly satisfied. "Okay. You look better, so okay. I'll go. But," she jabs a finger into Bucky's chest. "If she needs help, or gets worse, you call me, okay?"

"Will do, ma'am." Bucky gives her a winning sort of smile and escorts Doreen and Tippy-Toe to the door.

There's a weird twisting sensation in Kate's gut and it takes her a second to realize that she's never seen that smile before. Why does Doreen get it and not her?

 _Okay, wow, not the important thing here_.

"How are you really feeling?" Bucky asks once the door is shut behind Doreen.

"I'm fine, really. It hurts, but it's not the worst thing ever. And hey! No concussions. What a world."

Bucky harumphs at her. "Does that need stitches, too?"

"Does what?"

He taps his own jaw, inclining his head towards her, and Kate reaches up and touches her face. "Huh. I don't know. You can come look, you know."

With a sigh, he tilts her chin, holding her face lightly in his metal hand, and peers down at her. His fingers skim her cheek, and if it weren't for the whole bodily injury thing, it would be nice. 

"Don't think so," he finally says. "It's not too deep."

"Awesome."

He doesn't let go of her, and she doesn't step back. 

"So." He pauses, like he's hoping she'll interrupt him. "This is next time."

Aww, _yes_.

"And as much as I'd like to—like to--" he swallows hard as she steps even closer to him, chest to chest. "As much as I'd like to, you're in no condition to do anything except lay still and hope you don't pop a stitch."

"I can be still! I can be so, so still."

Bucky raises and eyebrow at her.

"Okay. Fine. I probably couldn't. But Bucky--"

"But nothing," he says, gently but firmly. "I can wait, and you need to."

Kate's about to protest this in loud, obnoxious fashion, right after she kisses him. Unfortunately, raising her arms to loop around his neck requires her back muscles which in turn tugs at her new stitches, and she doesn't hide her grimace fast enough.

Bucky shakes his head at her, his metal arm wrapping around her and pressing against her inflamed skin. "C'mon, Hawkeye. Let's get you to bed— _not that way_."

She winds up half on Bucky's chest, and they make out until she dozes off. It's nice, but there's something sad behind his kisses, and Kate promises herself that she'll ask him about it in the morning.

=*=

 _“This is Scott Lang! If you don’t know what to do after the tone, then I’m not sure why you’re calling me?”_  

BEEP  

“Scott. I just found out you’re in jail. I’m sorry, Scott. I wish I’d known. I know you wouldn’t have accepted help, but—it doesn’t matter. Scott, I know you hate me for what happened to—for what happened in New York. And I tried to call you but you refused my call—Scott, when you get out, call me. I didn't want to do it like this. It’s about Cassie.” 

=*=

When she wakes up, he's gone. There's a note on her bedside table, propped up next to the painkillers and a glass of water.

_Kate, I'm sorry, but I've got to head to ground for a while. Can't tell you why, in case it doesn't pan out, can't tell you when I'll be back because I don't know._

_I'm sorry to do this to you but I won't be able to make it back for a while, and I knew if I waited to do this in person, I wouldn't be able to leave. Stay safe. Make up with Stevie, I can tell you're still mad at him, but you both need friends._

_Take care._

Kate reads the note three times before what it says sinks in and she winds up feeling like she's been punched in the gut. Her whole body feels like it's on fire, from embarrassment and worry and pain.

It doesn't matter how many times she tells herself that this isn't like a middle school crush not liking her back; Bucky has business. It's dangerous and it's personal, and yeah, sure, she thought she was part of his personal now, but he's still a spy--

Kate thinks herself in circles before finally falling back asleep.

>>>\---->

Wherever he is and whatever he's doing, Bucky knows that he fucked up, because three weeks later she gets a package from overseas. Inside is a postcard with a picture of the Kremlin on it and a pair of fingerless gloves, strangely thick along the palms. After some cautions trial-and-error, she discovers that they emit an electric shock.

The back of the postcard says _Just in case_.

Just in case she ever needs to take him out. 

Get inside his reach, disable his arm.

Kate hopes there's a hidden message here, and that the message is _I still trust you._

 _> >>\---->_  

“I wanted your opinion,” is what Steve says when he finally calls, almost three months after their blowup.

 _I wanted_ _you_ _opinion_ is not what he means, though. She can’t figure out _what_ he means. He keeps avoiding her eyes, instead shuffling through maps with her, thumbing through files detailing the movements of Loki's staff scattered on the table. 

It’s almost an hour of this, of careful consideration of the other’s personal space before she’s had it. 

“Steve, why am I here?” 

“I wanted a second set of eyes,” he shrugs. 

“Ask Stark. Better yet, ask Natasha.” 

“They aren’t you,” he says in a rush, eyes meeting hers for the briefest of moments. “They don’t have the experience you have with coordinating a large-scale assault with a superpowered team.” 

“Steve, why am I really here?” 

“Look, I know you’re mad at me—" 

“ _I’m_ mad at _you_?” Kate is incredulous. “Excuse me, I’m pretty sure you’re the one that’s mad at me, for, you know, a fairly good reason, I’ll admit, but…” she trails off. “Wait, are you _not_ mad at me?” 

“I was. For a day or two, until I realized that you were absolutely right. And,” he stares at his hands, quieting. “It was wrong of me to bring Cassie into the discussion like that.” 

"A day or two. A _day or two_ , Steven, are you telling me we could have been not-mad at each other for _months_?"

"Well, I guess so?"

Kate drops her head in her hands and swears at the table.

Steve sits down next to her and his sigh seems to come from his toes. He waits til she looks over at him before he looks her right in the eye as he says, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she responds. “I’m not sorry for trying to honor his wishes.” 

“And I shouldn’t have made you feel guilty about that. You were right. I’d do the same.” 

“Okay.” She nods at him, and they smile tentatively at each other. “There’s still something that you’re not saying, though.” It’s in the air and the way he doesn’t quite look at her. 

“No, it’s—it’s nothing important. I just missed spending time with you, is all. Missed your company.” 

“Oh. Ok.” There’s still something he’s not saying in all that, but she doesn’t want to upset their newly rediscovered balance, so she leaves it alone. 

>>>\---->

So Steve asks her for help, and then Steve _asks her for help_ , because Loki’s staff is resurfacing to all kinds of chatter, and it really is an all hands on deck kind of thing. The staff is a hot-ticket item, and trying to pin down its location is hard enough; the Avengers are also trying to keep tabs on all the other nutjobs gone wild since SHIELD fell. 

(Kate runs into Thor all of once while going over possible locations for the scepter, and he tells her Loki is dead. The news leaves Kate winded for a moment before she remembers they’re talking about Loki. 

“Are you a betting man, Thor Odinson?” is apparently not an appropriate thing to say.) 

She goes in to the field with Steve a few times when he needs someone to watch his six, and it’s nice to know that he trusts her, at least in this capacity. 

Sometimes David winds up coming along, because he’s still the best with computers and, in a roundabout way, with interrogations. He’s still a bit miffed about his job, and going on missions takes his mind off of things. 

Well, she hopes it does. 

>>>\---->

Kate is sleeping—or, rather, _not_ sleeping—in an abandoned warehouse outside of Zrenjanin. That is, she _thinks_ it's a warehouse and she _hopes_ it's abandoned, but given the shoddy information this whole mission was predicated on, Kate's not holding her breath. 

Positives, though: she has the security footage of Baron von PretentiousName purchasing Loki's staff. It's enough to start running facial recognition. Kate also got some great intel on his potential home base—apparently, he was born in Latveria, has a title there and everything, so there's a good chance he's still got roots in the province of Doomstadt. Sure, this is a place Kate is Not Welcome At All, and she's got not desire to see their prisons again, so she might no longer be helpful for this mission.

But she got what they came for, so there's that. 

Sure, they had to scatter, and sure, Billy and David got the _nice_ borders that they had left getaway vehicles stashed along, and she got the one that is not actually a border at all, but hey. 

She is alive, and that's always a positive.

She's hunkered down, at any rate, when she hears a strong, short wind.

_There's nobody there. Don't be paranoid._

_It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you._

_But paranoia is stupid if you can take out whoever is_ _coming to_ _get you, so relax--_

She winds up and punches to her left.

"Ow! What the hell!"

" _Speed_?"

"I think you broke my nose!" Tommy whines, clearly just being dramatic since he's not even bleeding. "Man, I had a great line. I was gonna be all, _what's a place like you doing in a girl like this_ and then you went and _punched_ me."

"Speed, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, right!" Tommy stands and offers her his hand, which Kate grudgingly takes. "I'm your ride home, Hawkeye."

=*=

“You gonna wander on home?” Steve catches her at the elevators. 

“I think I’d better,” Kate winces, pressing her hand to the bandages keeping her forehead together. “Before I get roped into being the Clint to your Natasha again. You know we can hang out when there aren’t robots or terrorists.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. The robots were unintentional, though. I didn't know Doombots had such a large memory capacity.” he leans next to the elevator, head ducked down. 

"No, dude, I can't even be mad at that because I didn't know either. I thought that was a warehouse of decommissioned ones and then it was like every robot horror film ever." She will never, ever admit it aloud, but there's actually something kind of flattering about how much von Doom hated her and the team once.

“Thank you. Again.” Steve smiles up at her through his eyelashes. God, he’s so disgustingly adorable. If he was just adorable on the outside, that would be one thing, but he's also A+ good on the inside and It's just too much.

“You seen Darcy recently?” What is taking this elevator so long? 

“Oh, a week ago? Or so? She made me get her coffee. Gave me some surprising advice.” 

“Oh? What?” 

“She said I should ask you out.” 

“Did she.” 

“She did.” 

“Hm. And what did you think of that suggestion?” 

Steve shrugs. “Thought it was interesting.” 

Kate makes the painful decision to raise her eyebrows incredulously at him. 

“You got work tomorrow?” he says, ignoring the pointed expression she’s giving him. 

“Thankfully, no. Well, not thankfully, money is good, but thankfully my partner can handle anything that comes up.” 

“So were you just gonna stay here all night, then?’ 

“What? If that’s a come-on it’s a weird one.” 

Steve presses his lips together like he’s trying and failing to fight back a smile before reaching in front of her to push the down button. 

“Unless you wanted to take the stairs?” 

She can’t help but laugh, digging her thumbs into her eyes and then hissing in pain. “That explains why it was so slow.” 

“C’mon, Hawk,” he slings his arm over her shoulders, herding her into the elevator. “Lemme buy you a cup of coffee. Maybe some toast.” 

Kate leans against the solid mass of Steve’s side. “That’s an interesting first date.” 

“Please. I’m pretty sure you and I have been dating for months.” 

"What about that two-month period where we didn't talk?"

"We were on a break? We've been back on for longer than we were off at this point, you know."

“Oh, thank god,” Kate sighs, dropping her head to his chest. “Does that mean if I fall asleep while you’re making toast we can share the bed, or does that still put me on the couch?” 

“Depends on how much you insult the coffee.” 

“Couch then,” she sighs. Steve’s laugh rumbles under her ear. 

“You did me a favor today. I think I can take the couch.” 

“Well, what fun is the bed if you’re not gonna cuddle?” she points out, closing her eyes. 

=*=

Kate wakes up in a blind panic, which is not uncommon. There is a solid mass of muscle at her back, which is neither common nor uncommon.  

Smells filter through her muddled brain, and the digital display of an alarm clock. Gun oil, leather, something bitter and comforting—it takes a minute for the shape of the place to register. The Tower, Steve's room, she stayed last night, tonight, whatever time it is--

Steve's grip on her tightens just a bit, which is when Kate realizes that his hand is under her shirt, his fingers slotted against her ribs, which is not how they usually cuddle. To be fair, Kate sort of vaguely remembers putting Steve's hand under her shirt. She'd been freezing cold, okay, she'd reached the point of exhaustion where she was chilled to the bone and Steve is always so warm... 

...and it's not like anyone cares about her internal debate, so she tells herself to shut up.  

"Okay?" Steve asks her, lips brushing the back of her neck. He's a light sleeper; this isn't the first time she's woken him up simply by waking up herself.  

"Mmm," she mumbles. "'S'fine." She's half asleep again already, the anxiety she feels ebbing in the wake of being home and the safety that entails.  

And Steve, he helps.  

Kate wriggles, trying to get more comfortable, pressing closer to Steve. He makes a noise that Kate is too tired to figure out what it means. 

Everything is warm and heavy. Time passes, or it might not, she can't tell, and Steve rubs his scruffy face against her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He rubs his face harder against her, and the shivers become tingles. 

Then he bites her neck. 

"Shit, Steve!" 

"What?" 

Kate rolls over so she can see his face and he blinks sleepily at her. "Somethin' wrong?" 

Kate tries to calm her racing pulse, wondering when sleep-biting became a thing, if it ever _was_ a thing.  

"Kate?" 

Kate doesn't respond, she's too busy trying not to rip his shirt off, her hands running along his chest. "You bit me," she finally says. 

"Oh. I'm...sorry?" He peers down at her. "Did you..." He trails off, looking over her shoulder at something. "You haven't hit ten hours of sleep yet." 

"It's—your—fault," Kate punctuates each word by hitting her forehead against Steve's chest. Steve drums his fingers against her waist before clasping that hand behind her knee and hitching her leg over his hip. "Jesus, Steve! How am I supposed to get ten hours when you keep _doing things_?" 

Kate can feel his lips curve into a smile against her neck. "This," his hand tightens meaningfully on her leg. "Is going to happen. _After_ you get a few more hours of sleep." 

Kate takes a minute to find her breath since it's vanished. "Wow. Okay." 

"Too much?" 

"Nope. Just the right amount." She takes another second. "I still don't get how that was supposed to help me sleep." 

"It was supposed to take the pressure off." Steve leans back to look at her. "It didn't work, did it?" 

"It was a valiant effort. Commendable." 

"I guess I should have believed Tasha when she told me it was a good line." 

"You...ran that by Natasha?" 

"I didn't say it was you, if that's what you're worried about." 

Kate stifles a giggle into Steve's chest. His chest is really good for this sort of thing. "You go to Natasha for dating advice--" 

"I don't go to her for it, she just sort of gives it." 

"That's terrifying. Also adorable." 

"Thanks?" Steve starts massaging Kate's scalp, disrupting a few of her higher thought processes. 

"Not you," she manages. "Terrifying and adorable of Nat." 

"Ah." 

=*=

“Ugh,” Kate manages. “What time is it?” 

“Five.” 

“AM or PM?” 

“AM.” 

“Gross.” She thinks about opening her eyes and ultimately decides against it. “You’re getting ready to do something awful like go for a run, aren’t you?” 

“Guilty.” 

“Is it weird if I just remain unconscious for the next five hours, or should I scoot?” 

“Stay here,” the mattress dips as Steve sits next to her. “If you want.” 

His hand lands on the side of her neck, hot against her skin. _T_ _his is going to happen,_ he'd said. Or had that been a really intense dream? The mattress shifts again and she feels his lips press to her cheek. “Go back to sleep, Kate. I’ll try to be quiet when I come back.” 

Of course, once he’s gone she can’t fall back asleep. It feels like something died in her mouth, and she’s hungry, and the bed is a lot colder with Steve gone. She drags her fingers over her hips, an itch under her skin. If that wasn't a dream, Steve's got some moves. Maybe it was one of those sleep things, and he didn't really mean it? Why else would he have left--he told to go to sleep so that they could get to _later_ , because _later_ is when sex is going to happen. 

The itch under her skin intensifies. It takes roughly ten minutes for her to decide that sleep is evading her, and get up. 

Kate makes a pointed effort to no look at herself in the mirror, since she knows she looks like death warmed over as she makes her way to the kitchen.

JARVIS has a standing order for groceries as soon as Steve enters American airspace, so it’s really just a matter of if Steve has been eating like a real person or like RoboSteve, who subsists solely on protein shakes and energy bars. 

And falcon eggs. 

And rocks. 

She opens the refrigerator. 

“Ooh, vegetables.” 

It’s a mix. Protein powder in the cabinets, boxes of energy bars; but also boxes of poptarts and plenty of meat and starches. Kate has a nagging suspicion that Steve has regressed into just eating for the calories, and not so much the flavor. Well, at least some of the bars are good flavors, not Bland with Bland Chunks drizzled in Blandness. She snags a lemon one, fills a glass with water, and eats staring at his fridge. 

He’s got notes to himself, a few new pictures from the last time she was here. An old one of Bucky that makes her smile (it also makes her miss him, she hasn't seen him in months); a few shots of Steve with Natasha and Clint; one of the two of them. It’s a little grainy, looks like someone—probably Natasha, she does things like this with everyone, apparently—had pulled it off of a security feed. 

Kate looks like hell in the picture, dirt and blood on her face, and Steve’s all Captain-y with his arms crossed over his chest. It’s really more the look on his face that gives her pause. She’s seen that look before, seen it many times. She’s just never seen it out of the context of Steve looking at her, never seen it from a detached perspective. It’s a combination of bemused fondness, and something else Kate can’t quite put her finger on, which is probably just because she’s gotten food in her system and now her body is ready for sleep again. She stares at the picture for a second or two longer, trying to figure out what it is in Steve’s expression that she can’t name. 

She shuffles around his place, failing to get rid of the restlessness in her bones, eventually making her way to the bathroom, when she remembers the whole gross-mouth situation. 

She sighs at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Black eye and split lip—no loose teeth, a miracle in and of itself. _Yo_ _u've_ _looked better, Bishop._

She roots around for Steve’s toothpaste, eyes his toothbrush with longing, and squirts a minty line down her finger. She’s really going to have to start carrying a spare toothbrush around; this is the second time in as many weeks she’s brushed her teeth with her finger. 

She still shudders every time she remembers when Clint had told her he’d used her toothbrush. 

(“I was raised in the circus!” he’d said. “That’s no excuse!” she’d yelled back, chucking the toothbrush at him. 

It hadn’t been their finest moment.) 

She steals some mouthwash before deciding to go all in and steal water and shampoo, too. Nothing helps that grimy, just-got-my-ass-sort-of-kicked feeling like a nice hot shower.

And if she's exhausted by the time she's done and falls back into bed to get the rest of her ten hours, well, that's just that.

 =*=

“Oh! Sorry! I thought you were still asleep!” Steve is turning bright strawberry red and he is a full-body blusher, a fact Kate is now aware of because Steve is wearing only a towel and leftover water from his shower. 

“Just woke up,” she shifts slightly so she’s not directly facing him as she finishes braiding her hair. “Sorry. Let me just—sneak past you, I’ll wait in the living room—“ 

“Kate, hang on—“ he hooks her wrist lightly with two fingers, his damp hand sliding down to squeeze hers. 

Kate never figures out what he was going to say, because as soon as he touches her it’s like a jolt to her system. She looks at him, electric blue eyes and mouth parted slightly and somehow, they’re kissing.

She turns, trying to find some way to get leverage on Steve's foot and a half of extra height, trying to prop her hips on the edge of Steve's dresser.  

Steve, for his part, manages to figure out what she's trying to do while he's curling his tongue against hers. Kate can feel his hand reach behind her, sweeping, and then clattering as the assorted items on top of the dresser hit the floor.  

Kate's thighs press to Steve's hips—or they would be. They are actually up against Steve's cold damp towel, which is actually really uncomfortable and not sexy at all, even with Steve nipping his way down her neck. 

She _wants_ to say something sexy but what winds up coming out is "Really? _Dresser_?" Steve laughs at her, because he's awful, and picks her up like she's nothing and drops her on the bed. She manages to hook her toes in his towel and it slides to the floor.

Kate absolutely doesn't let out a contented hum that makes Steve smirk.

=*=

They don't get much done that day. Honestly, there are worse reasons to spend the whole day in bed, and Kate isn't complaining. 

Not even close.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKY HAS HIS REASONS I PROMISE OK they were just strangely not down to get down like guys help me out here


	7. Baba O'Riley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, we reach the Age of Ultron with the Young Avengers in tow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL.  
> Here we are again. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It is....a lot different. Like, the bare bones are the same, but just to give you an idea, this chapter was originally a bit above 7,000 words and now is clocking in at....over 21,000. CLEARLY a lot more is happening.

Kate startles awake, bolting upright and shoving down the automatic panic. She knows she's safe, she knows she's home, and she knows there's two-hundred pounds of supersoldier that would take it personally if someone _was_ there to hurt her.

"Hey, go back to sleep," Steve says, pretending that has ever or will ever work. "Everything's fine." He's sitting at the foot of the bed, pulling his boots on, already geared up. “We got a lead on Strucker.”

"I don't know if I'd call that fine, but okay," she rasps, then clears her throat so she can maybe not sound like a pack-a-day twenty-four-hour-diner waitress. "You need us?”

“I think we’ve got it covered.” He starts doing up the buckles on his boots—there's like five on each, so it takes a while. "You are...not allowed in the country we're going to, for diplomatic reasons."

Ah. That sounds about right. "You know that's never stopped me before."

Steve's smile gleams in the darkness. "Barton's coming in. We'll be fine."

"I'd feel better if I was going along." She's gone on most of the leads they've had on Strucker. All of them have amounted to a large pile of nothing, but still. She'd feel better.

"This is already going to be an international incident, Hawkeye." He leans over her and kisses her forehead. "No need stir the pot any more than necessary."

“If you say so.” She watches Steve tug on his gloves and then his gauntlets in the faint light from the streetlamp outside her window.

He catches her looking at him and smiles. "I'll be back soon. Probably not even three days, we have solid intel. This is going to be over soon."

"Now you've gone and jinxed it. And _solid_ _intel_? Steve, please. How do you even know that?"

Steve sighs and leans in towards her. Kate closes her eyes and waits for his lips to touch hers. Instead he nips her nose and she lets out an affronted gasp.

When she finally looks back at Steve, he's rolling his eyes, a fond smile playing about his lips. "It's _your_ intel, Kate. Are you telling me you don't trust your intel?"

"Oh.  You should have led with that. That's different."

"Thought it might be." 

A thought hits her and she bolts upright, almost headbutting him. "Wait. You've had that intel for _how_ many months? You've just been sitting on it?"

"We had to do recon, Kate. It's a _castle_. Not to mention Stark wanted to work on his stealth tech...." He trails off. He cups her face and it's more leather and padding than Steve, but she'll take it. "Hawkeye. It'll be fine, I promise. I'll be home to annoy you in no time, and I'll probably have a minor injury that you can look at and do that sigh that you do to remind me that you offered to come and help."

Kate presses her forehead to his and reminds herself that being a _them_ doesn't change anything. Steve is still Captain America, and he's more than capable of holding his own. "Don't do anything stupid."

“See you when I get back.” Steve lets her go, clearly ignoring her request.

“Stay safe. Call if you need backup.”

“Will do, Hawkeye.” His eyes drop to her lips, and honestly, it’s cute how obvious he is. “See you soon.”

She kisses him, catching him by the harness for his shield and using it to haul him close. It’s officially her favorite part of his new uniform. His tongue plays over the split in her lower lip before she pulls away, panting. “Not if I see you first.”

She waits until she hears the slide of Steve locking the deadbolt behind him before grabbing her cell. “David, sorry to wake you. We’re going to be on alert the next few days.”

>>>\--->

It’s weird to have a legitimate reason to be at Avengers Tower.

Not that visiting Steve isn’t a legitimate reason, it’s just usually accompanied by any lie that avoids mentioning her and Steve being… _her and Steve_. It’s just. Not something they’re ready to share with their teams. Sam and David probably know, but—whatever, it’s not important right now.

She pushes the button on the elevator with conviction.

Well, impatience.

Anxiety, maybe.

“Goddamnit, JARVIS, can we please just _move_?” Her heel bounces against the floor as she tries to siphon off some of her nervous energy.

“Right away, Ms. Bishop. I can assure you Mr. Barton is on the mend as we speak.”

Kate hit the _close door_ button a few more times for good measure. “He got shot. By some weird ray-gun. Forgive me if I need to see for myself.”

“Of course, Ms. Bishop. I was merely trying to alleviate some of your concern.”

“Thank you, JARVIS. I appreciate that. It’s not your fault Clint is such a _futzing_ idiot who gets _shot_ like an _idiot_ —“

Kate is vaguely aware that she’s panicking.

“Ms. Bishop, might I suggest breathing in to a count of five? One, two, three—“

JARVIS is good people, even if he’s not actually people.

=*=

Clint is in the middle of putting his shirt on when Kate marches into medical, and he stops with it balled in his hands.

“Hey, girly-girl,” he grins, subtly shifts so that his shirt is covering his new skin.

“Don’t,” Kate holds up her hand to stem whatever story was about to free-fall from his mouth. “Let me see.”

Clint sighs like he’s a twelve-year-old not a damn grown man and tosses the shirt onto the nearest table.

Kate glares at him as she nears, right until she’s close enough to crouch and see the new skin eye-to-side, prodding it with her index finger.

“I should have come,” she sighs as she straightens. "I _knew_ I should have come, I told Steve--"

“Take it up with Stark--” Clint shrugs before whatever else he was going to say is cut off by her engulfing him in a hug. "What do you mean, you _told_ Steve? We got word and rolled out like five seconds later, how did you even know about this?"

“That's not important. What's important is that I can’t let you go _anywhere_ , can I, Hawkeye?”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We got the stick, I’m not dead, it’s a good day.”

“Yeah,” Kate pulls back, not sniffling even a little, to look him in the eye. “How are you doing with that?”

“I’m fine,” he tries to duck out of her hold to put his shirt on, probably, but Kate puts his face between her hands and _makes_ him look at her. She's seen him avoid his problems enough--she's seen him deal with _this_ problem enough—that she can imagine how not-great he's doing right now.

“Really, though,” she asks, his skin cool under her palms. Not sweating or clammy. Just Clint.

“It’s fine,” he insists. “I mean, creepy. But fine. Totally fine. The brainwashing wand isn’t bothering me that much.”

“Liar. You’re such a liar. Come on, get clothes on, I can’t take you for pizza half naked.”

“You could.”

“But I won’t.”

“I should help Stark get ready for the party—“

“Okay, suburban mom, if you want to get in the way of all the hired wait-staff and caterers and robots be my guest but the dog and I are getting pizza. Whatever.”

“You brought Lucky?”

“Steve is babysitting our fur-child, now hurry up, I’m hungry, I need to stress eat. You almost dying really does a number on my nerves.”

“I didn’t _almost_ die,” Clint scoffs. “I wasn’t even death _adjacent_.”

“I guess you can buy the pizza, then.”

“Oh, man, Katie, I was at death’s door, it was horrible—“

She shoves him at that, albeit a lot more gently that usual. “You’re a dweeb. Put clothes on—clothes that do _not_ have your blood in them. Also, call Laura and tell her you’re okay.”

“You told _Laura?_ ” Clint looks…mildly horrified.

“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure she and JARVIS exchange gardening tips and he’s the one you should be mad at about that. I’ve gotten like, six frantic texts from her since we’ve been standing here. Also one from a number that's not a number that's a string of emojis—" Kate pulls up the text in question. "Knife, knife, knife, frown, knife, fried shrimp, avocado, fried shrimp, cassette tape, _sais_ _,_ to which I can only reply with _what the fuck_. Your husband is legit terrifying.” She digs Clint’s cell out of his bag and hands it to him. “I don't know what sort of godless emoji app he's using that has _sais_ in it but I'm pretty sure I will die if you do not respond. _Call_ _them_ _._ I’ll be waiting.”

She ducks out of the room so that Clint can get yelled at in private, catches a glimpse of Hill and Steve huddled over a tablet. Lucky is nosing at it, clearly under the impression that the tablet is just cleverly disguised food. To be fair, Billy does do that sometimes.

“He’s fast and she’s weird,” Kate hears Maria tell Steve.

“Fast and weird?” she calls over, crossing to them. “Fast and weird like how?”

“Hold up, hold up,” Tony waves his hands in the air. “What the hell is Kate Bishop doing here?”

Kate blinks at him. “I’m here to corrupt the Avengers with my wanton partygirl ways.” She turns her attention back to Hill. “Fast and weird like how?”

“No,” Hill glares at her. “Absolutely not. You were _Coulson’s_ pet project. I never liked you.”

“That just hurts my feelings, Agent,” Kate informs her.

"I'm not an agent anymore, you know it and I know it, so let's just cut the crap, okay?" Maria rolls her eyes and turns the tablet towards Kate. Stark is muttering to JARVIS about security protocols and bratty kids. Poor dude’s going to have an aneurysm if he ever finds out about her team.

Kate is hit with an odd feeling of déjà vu as she looks at the young man and woman on the screen. The guy is bulkier, sure, but he's got the same eyes and the same shaggy white hair. The woman has red hair, which is different, but it's in her eyes and her chin, just like Billy's. 

There's something else, though. Like déjà vu, a deep voice with an accent talking to her about Billy and Tommy, about two children much like them, lost long ago. _Wanda_ , her brain supplies before a sharp, almost painful sensation cracks across her head. Kate can't push past the thoughts fast enough—the thoughts are uncomfortable in a way that tightens a band of panic across her chest. The resemblance to _her_ team is startling, that must be it.

“C’mon, Hill,” Kate finds her voice, rubbing her temples. “You don’t see it? Speed and Wiccan. They’re Speed and Wiccan, just older.”

“Not that much older,” Hill flicks her fingers across her tablet, changing the information on the screen. “Maybe they’re siblings?”

“Possibly? Speed and Wiccan were adopted from Latveria and Sokovia used to be part of Latveria.”

Hill reaches over and taps the screen, pulling up a file. “This is all the information Hydra had on them—“

“All your information comes _from_ Hydra? Well, they’ve never been known to lie, right?”

Maria Hill glares at her in a way that has Kate remembering with painful clarity exactly why she and her team had always been afraid of her.

“You think someone created entirely new identities and brainwashed them into thinking they volunteered…” Hill trails off. “Yeah, you’re right. When I say it out loud it sounds a lot less crazy than when I was thinking it.”

“It’s not like it’s that hard to create new identities anyway,” Kate shrugs. “Certainly nothing beyond the purview of Hydra."

"And we've seen what the scepter does as far as taking away a person's will," Maria nods. "We saw it with...the agents Loki brainwashed, when he tried to invade."

A long, uncomfortable silence settles before Kate clears her throat. "We wouldn’t happen to have DNA samples from them? The Maximoffs?”

“I’ll spread the word,” Hill finally nods at her. “Next encounter, DNA samples.”

“What are you thinking?” Steve murmurs once Hill has dragged Tony away.

Kate thinks about Billy and Tommy. “Nothing good.”

She glances though one of the many windows on this level to see Clint with the phone to his ear, looking particularly cowed, but not quite remorseful. Which means he’s barely at the halfway point of his stern talking-to from Laura, which means it’s going to be a good twenty minutes until they get pizza.

Lucky bounds over to the sofas, dragging Steve along before he can unclip the leash and let Lucky go terrorize Stark. With a sigh, Steve sinks to the couch, resting his head in his hands.

Kate flops down next to him. A more than casual observer might say _too_ close, but there don't appear to be any observers, casual or otherwise, paying attention to them.

“Thank you for watching my mangy mutt.” She's mostly talking about Lucky.

“No problem at all.”

“Everything went okay?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. Clint would have been fine except there were the two—unknowns. It could have gone a lot worse.”

“Wow, that is so utterly _not_ reassuring, Steve.”

“You never said I had to be reassuring,” Steve points out. “Just honest.”

“Yeah,” Kate sighs and rests her hand on the back of Steve's neck, massaging the rock-hard muscles and scritching her nails through his hair. “And how’s my third-favorite Avenger? You okay?”

“I think so.”

Kate’s _mmhmm_ begs to differ; she can feel the thrum of tension under his skin and seeping into his muscles.

“Just adrenaline, honestly, Kate.”

“Tell me another, Rogers, I got time,” she drawls.

“You know Stark’s got security _all_ over this floor, right?”

She smiles lazily at him as she stretches. “Right,” she nods. “Gotcha."

Another glance at Clint informs Kate she's _still_ got twenty minutes, so she casually turns, cracks her neck, and asks, "Camera blind spots?"

"Stairwell," he inclines his head in the direction. "Five minutes?"

"See you then."

=*=

Steve is on her as soon as he gets to the stairwell, gripping and tugging her closer, mouth on hers, stealing her breath away. 

His hands are on the backs of her thighs, picking her up like she weighs nothing. He has her against the wall, face pressed into her neck. "Mission went fine, huh?"

He doesn't respond. Steve's lips are on her skin and he's frantic in a way that requires something other than five minutes in a camera-free zone. 

"Hey, okay, it's okay, I'm here," she murmurs against his skull. "You're home."

That was the right thing to say. Steve shudders—even his breath is shaky against her skin. _This_ she can do in a stairwell. Kate curls around him as best she can being as that he's roughly twice as big as she is.

"You're home, Steve. You're home," she murmurs, repeating it so much the words stop meaning anything. She doesn't know what memory he's locked in or what actually happened on the mission, but she can wait.

Eventually his breathing evens out. His grip on her loosens, the veins in his arms don't pop quite so much. "I'm sorry," he says, voice rough. "That—this wasn't really what I had in mind."

Kate tugs his head back so he's looking at her. "But this was what you needed, so we'll just take a rain check on the orgasms, yeah?"

Steve chuckles. "Sounds fair."

"I am always fair."

His hands loosen on her but Kate clings. She's only ever taller than Steve when he holds her up, and she likes it. It makes her feel very _my Steve, you hurt him you die_. 

"Clint's going to be looking for you," he reminds her. 

With a harumph she slides down his very tall body until her feet touch the floor, dragging him down so she can press a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'm glad you're home, Steve."

"Me, too." He takes her hands in his and brushes his lips across her knuckles. "Hey, what did you mean earlier when you said I was your third-favorite Avenger?"

=*=

Kate doesn’t realize she’s being hugged until a minute after the fact, because Natasha is a legitimate ninja hugger, and it would be disturbing if it wasn’t endearing. Disturbing/endearing is a fine line that Natasha constantly walks with an enviable finesse. 

“Come on,” Natasha un-hugs Kate and grabs her elbow, pulling her towards Stark’s bar. “Earn your keep, Bishop.”

“My _keep_?” Kate drags her feet, craning her head over her shoulder. Steve gives her a mildly sympathetic look but does nothing to help her, mouthing _sorry_ and shrugging. “Man with a plan my _ass_ ,” she mutters.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“When Hawkeyes mutter, it’s usually rude,” Clint pipes up from where he’s bartending until Natasha shoves him onto a bar stool.

“Why are you a traitor to your own kind, Hawkeye?” Kate snaps. “Where’s the solidarity?”

Clint pops about six maraschino cherries into his mouth with a grin, chomping on them like he’s a cow. “What were you and Cap talking about?”

“None of your business.”

“Strategy?” Natasha guesses, but the way she looks at Kate plainly states _I’m going to screw with you_.

“Please, Steve doesn’t know who she is,” Clint scoffs. “ _Strangers in the night, doo bee do bee_ _dooo_ _—“_

“Why are you awful,” Kate says as she mechanically starts to make a martini. Stirred, not shaken, because only ridiculous posers order Bond martinis. She's known how to make a proper martini since she was thirteen, which, according to Doreen, is too young to learn that skill.

“Maybe Steve has a crush on Kate,” Natasha suggests. Kate goes very still, but only on the inside. Outwardly, she moves on to making a mojito for Natasha.

Clint’s mouth drops open and he looks from Natasha to Kate, over his shoulder to Steve, back to Kate. “That would be weird,” he concludes. “Since Steve is like. Ninety.”

Steve catches Kate's eye and winks as Thor pours something from a tiny silver flask into his glass, lifting it in a salute.

“Okay, well, yes chronologically, he’s in his nineties but if you look at emotional and mental development he’s really in his—what?” Kate cuts herself off at Clint’s open-mouthed stare. “What? Clint, I don’t want to see half-masticated cherries, please shut your mouth.”

“I love that word,” Clint leans over the bar and pulls a flower from behind Natasha’s ear like the former-circus dork that he is. “Masticate. Because it sounds like—“

“We know what it sounds like, Barton,” Natasha snaps. Her fond smile undermines the severity of her tone. “Please at least pretend to be a mature adult tonight.”

Rather surprisingly, he manages it.

=*=

Kate is relaxing with the on-site medical professional while the Avengers attempt to lift Thor’s hammer. There is a bottle of absolutely lethal vodka that Natasha brought them that they are studiously avoiding in favor of a bottle of peach schnapps. "If I want to get drunk, I don't want it to hurt going down," Sam mutters, sliding the schnapps towards Kate.

"She's given me that vodka before, for the holidays," Kate nods in agreement. "And like. Drink it if you want to forget the past twelve hours and hate the next ten, or to sanitize wounds."

"I'll remember that."

"So where's David tonight?"

Sam raises an eyebrow. "What, you're telling me you don't know?"

"We're _friends_ , okay, I'm not his mother." 

Sam gives her a very unconvinced look.

"Our relationship is perfectly normal!"

Sam continues to look unconvinced, only now he's laughing. "Kate. You called him to help you pick out what to wear--"

"Lots of people do that!"

"To _bed_ ," Sam continues. "And not even sexy bed, just bed. To _sleep_ in, Kate."

"Sam, I was _so tired."_ A whine edges into her voice, plaintive and sad. That was the week she'd been tailing a former-SHIELD-current-Hydra operative for a week and had gone at least two days without so much as seeing a bed. 

"I know." Sam smiles at her and passes her the bottle. "It was kinda cute, to be honest. To see him walk you through your meltdown when you couldn't find a ratty old diner shirt. Were you actually crying?"

"I was totally crying. It wound up being in the laundry basket where he had me look, right on top. I probably would have just passed out on my dresser if he hadn't helped me."

Sam's answering smile is so sweet it makes Kate's teeth ache. "Yeah. I'm just giving you a tough time. Your friendship is nice. Weird, but nice. Oh, and to answer your question, he and Tommy are fighting robots."

"Wait, _what_? Fighting robots? They didn't tell me--"

"No, sorry, sorry, they're _watching_ fighting robots. Battle-Bots, or whatever it is."

"Oh! Right! God, I was _so_ glad I got out of that."

"Yeah." Sam laughs. "Yeah, me too. I don't need to watch a robot stab another robot. So, uh. Steve's still lookin' for a place in Brooklyn. Has he not found yours yet, or...?"

"What? No, I don't, we're not, that's--"

Sam holds his hands up, laughing. "I'm kidding. Mostly. I mean, doesn't he have a drawer at your place?" Sam's smile is easy, nonjudgmental. "You both deserve good stuff, is all I'm saying. He is...not a fast mover. If I have to nudge it along, I have to nudge it along. I'm willing to do that."

Kate ignores the heat on her cheeks. "You are such a good _wing_ man."

"You ruined it." He steals the bottle back from her.

They focus more on the hammer, now, arguing good-naturedly about who is going to get it to move. Kate’s got ten bucks riding on one of the Avengers pulling something important; Sam is betting on someone smacking themselves in the face with their own hand. They are both hoping that person is Tony, and the emptier their bottle gets the more vocal they get about it.

It’s a bit like watching a baseball game—they cheer for their favorites, boo the ones they don't want to win. Both are on their feet whooping when Steve gets Mjolnir to wiggle. He pushes his sleeves up past his elbows and gives Kate a slightly provocative eyebrow wiggle before readjusting his hands on the leather-wrapped handle and straining.

"God _damn_ my boy is hot," she says. Sam is the only one who hears her, thankfully, and he just rolls his eyes. Steve catches her eye as he sits back down, smiling in an I've-got-a-secret way. Kate leans forward, trying to figure out--

Sam lightly punches her shoulder. "How many peanuts do you think you can get in Stark's hair?"

"Psh." Kate takes a handful from Sam. "Like, literally all of them? Please, Sam, they're not cashews. This is child's play." 

Even swimming in alcohol, Kate's aim is perfect. 

"Damn. Ten for ten—eleven for eleven—okay, I admit. I thought the world's greatest marksman thing was just an expression."

"Nope. Legit actual facts."

Steve has caught on to what they are doing, trying to hide his laugh behind his hand. He points to himself, opening his mouth. Kate doesn't need to be asked twice, carefully selecting the most visually pleasing peanut and lobbing it in a graceful arc that lands perfectly in Steve's mouth. He gives her a grin and a thumbs up.

"You know he used to be allergic to peanuts?"

"I know, right? Crazy." Kate shakes her head.

“How the hell did I get _peanuts_ in my hair?” Stark paws at his head. “What the fuck?”

“That isn’t even close to the worst thing you’ve had in your hair,” Rhodes says, and—is that a leer? Is Colonel James Rhodes _leering_ at Tony Stark? Is Tony Stark _blushing_? 

Sam elbows Kate and gives her a wide-eyed look, which she returns.

“I feel like we need popcorn,” he says, a touch of reverence in his voice. “This is _gold_.”

"Why haven't we been filming this?"

Which, naturally, is when all hell breaks loose. 

A high-pitched squeal rends the air, leaving Clint clawing at his hearing aids and the rest of them clapping their hands over their ears.

A creepy, falling-apart robot staggers into the room, looking more like a zombie than a machine. Then it starts talking. 

Someone, Kate thinks with a touch of bitterness, needs to talk to Tony Stark about impulse control.

Steve tosses over her bow and her quiver from where they were behind his shield and she fires at Stark’s Frankenstein monster robot.

“You brought your bow to a party?” Clint hollers at her from across the room.

“You _didn’t_?” Kate hollers back, and Hawkeye and Hawkeye stare incredulously at each other for a moment before Kate twists around and fires another shot off.

“Who the hell _are_ you?” Tony asks her.

“It’s a secret!” She yells in between shots.

“Mind your own business!” Clint chimes in. They lock eyes for half a second and start making their way to Doc Cho, who has no weapon.

“What is wrong with you people?” Sam shouts, firing a gun he got from who knows where.

“Shoot first, ask questions later!” Natasha called from where she’s covering Dr. Banner’s head with her free hand, firing as she drags him behind the bar.

It's pandemonium, pure and simple. Thor attacks the robot with his hammer and gets thrown through a pane of glass; Rhodes goes after the robot with his War Machine repulsor and gets thrown through a window. Clint launches himself at the thing and gets thrown into the mirror behind the bar. Steve leaps on it and gets thrown into a metal beam, his shield skittering away from him. _Shit_. 

Kate fires, keeping low as she bolts to him. She gains the momentum she needs so that when she tucks herself into a ball and grabbing Steve's shirt, they roll under the baby grand piano, like a human snowball. Steve kicks one of the legs off and the piano crashes down, providing them with cover. Well, cover from fire—not cover from the glass that rains down when another robot joins the fray and shoots the ceiling out. Kate is still on top of him, and she throws herself across his torso so she's covering his face and neck. Steve's hands spread wide over her back, covering her neck and spine. 

Kate can feel slices opening up on her skin, but nothing big hits her.

She sits up, slivers of glass falling from her hair. "Hey, babe."

"Imagine meeting you here," Steve responds.

"Hey! Cap!" Clint shouts and Steve's shield comes sailing over the piano. Kate pushes off of him as he jumps, catches, and redirects the shield to take out one of the robots—not the ringleader, but it does cut down on the fire.

“Just keep shooting, just keep shooting—“ Clint starts to sing, having found a gun somewhere. 

“Just keep shooting, shooting, shooting, what do we do we—“ Kate joins him in singing as he covers her.

“—shoot, shoot—“ Clint choruses. Kate dives and rolls, knocking Dr. Cho farther out of the line of fire. "Sorry, Doc!" Kate fumbles for an arrow and gives a shout of triumph when she comes up with an EMP arrow.

Really, it seems like it took too much time but the combination of EMP and bullets and magical hammer and shield finally down the Frankenbot.

Kate approaches it slowly. She's the closest so she reaches it first, nudging it with her toe, hald expecting it to leap up and rip her leg off. Clint comes up behind her, still humming.

"Why is it always robots?" He asks.

"I don't know, maybe somebody was reading the autobiography of Victor von Doom." A book that is a combination of self-aggrandizement, original sketches of Doombots, and a lot—a _lot_ —of bitching about her and her team. God, _fine,_ yeah, she has a copy. Victor even signed it _Thanks for all the laughs, Hawkeye! All the best, Victor._ They have...a weird relationship.

"That would explain why the robot attacked you."

"It didn't—what? No, Clint, I meant _Tony_ was reading the book. And that robot attacked all of us, not just me."

"Oh. Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense. To be fair, maybe the robot read it, too. That. Would also. Make sense." He crouches and pokes at the smoking pile of metal with an arrow he snagged from her quiver as Tony and Rhodes join them.

“Are you Barton’s long-lost daughter or something?” Stark manages.

“Ew,” Clint responds, which saves Kate having to give the same answer. 

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” Rhodes puts a hand on her arm, not-so-subtly shifting her back from the robot. 

Kate touches her forehead, which is warm and sticky. “Huh. Thought I got somebody’s beer on me. Medic.”

She doesn’t even raise her voice but Sam’s head pops up from behind the overturned couch he and Maria were behind. “What happened, you fall out of your nest?”

“Har-de-har-har, Birb Boy.”

“I thought I was Bird Boy?” Clint mutters.

“No, you’re _Bird_ Boy. He’s Birb Boy. Like—“

“Oh. Birb. Bird’s Rights. Gotcha.”

Sam glares at both her _and_ Clint as he approaches. Kate doesn’t take it personally, mostly because he sits her down and grabs the miraculously still intact bottle of vodka and uses it to clean the gash on her forehead.

Sam glues her head wound shut. "This seems way too familiar."

"Ugh, you ruined it. You were supposed to say 'I thought we got out of fighting robots tonight.' What a waste of a moment."

"You know, you could have just popped off your sassy little one-liner and had a moment yourself but instead you decided to bitch at me about it. So who really wasted the moment, hmm?"

She opens her mouth to make a smartass remark and promptly shuts it when she sees Sam’s expression.

=*=

Kate winds up on Steve's floor after everything has settled down a bit. She should go home—she has calls to make, needs to check in with her team and get them up to speed on all of the weirdness that's ensued in the past day.

She intends to get in the elevator and walk out the door, but every time she does she remembers Steve shaking against her. So she gets in the elevator, sure, but walks out a few floors above the door she intended.

She sits on Steve's kitchen counter and fusses over the scratches on his arms and hands until he's all bandaged up and leaves her to shake glass out of her hair into a trash can.

"You sure you want to stay?" He rummages in the bedroom and comes out with a shirt. "Stark--"

"I don't care what Stark thinks. Do you?"

The face Steve makes is priceless, as if _look at all the fucks I give_ has been distilled into one expression. "Here. You have blood on your shirt."

"Oh my god, I lose more shirts this way."

"So you started getting rid of your bloodstained shirts while I was gone?"

"Wow. Shut up, Rogers."

"Make me, Bishop." He stands between her knees, the fresh shirt between them, and there are a _lot_ of ways this can go down--

"Steve! Stop making out with Kate!" Sam shouts, pounding on Steve's door. "Your phone is blowing up."

Kate debates pretending like she's not there for about twenty seconds before sliding down to the floor with a sigh, tugging her ruined shirt over her head. "Why do you have my phone?"

"You left it upstairs!"

Steve hands her the clean shirt, and together they go to his door. "It's late," Steve says. "Can you not shout?"

"Is this really the time for your old man jokes, Old Man?" Sam pushes past them and waves a phone at Kate until she snags it. 

"How do I have _one hundred and fifty_ text messages, Sam?"

"I told David what happened. That was it!"

"You told David," Kate repeats, realization dawning. "Who is hanging out with Tommy, who has never met gossip he didn't like. Great. Thank you." With a sigh, she drops her head into her hand and lets the chorus of _fuck_ echo in her mind for a moment or two.

"Duty calls, I guess," Steve says. "Guess I should get back on Tony."

"I'd rather you get on me, but whatever," Kate mutters, much to Sam's horror.

"C'mon," Steve ignores Sam's gagging. "I'll walk you down."

They ride the elevator in silence, Kate leaning against Steve, who has his lips against her head, and Sam, who is staring at the ceiling. 

The lobby of the Tower is mostly silent, dim lights gleaming off of mirrored surfaces, the eerie, abandoned feeling amplified by what happened in the penthouse.

Steve walks them out of the Tower. “Kate—“

“I’ll have my team on call. So _call._ Don’t do that thing where you act like you don’t need us. Okay?”

“We do all right on our own,” he says before seeing her glare. “Hawkeye, I’ll call if we can’t handle it. Whatever _it_ is. If there even is an it. I know how you hate them being in the spotlight.”

He stares at her, as if daring her to debate this with him.

“Take care of yourself, Steve.”

“I _will_ call, Kate. I promise.” 

She stares at him, her eyes flicking over his face, assessing him, weighing the truth of his words, before nodding, gripping the back of his neck.

He cups her face in his hands, kissing the area around the cut on her forehead before pressing his lips to hers.

“Seriously,” Sam pushes past them. “Get a room.”

“Seriously,” Steve mimics. “Stop cockblocking me, Wilson.”

Kate gasps. “Why, Captain America, such _language_ , what a _disgrace_ to the ideals of beauty, freedom, truth, and love?”

“That’s _Moulin Rouge_ ,” Sam gripes. “Are we walking home together or what, Hawkeye?”

“Right,” Kate squeezes Steve’s arm before giving him one final peck on the lips. “Call.”

He gives her a half-salute before disappearing back into the Tower.

“C’mon, second least-favorite Hawkeye. Let’s go!”

=*=

The call she gets is from Clint. She doesn't know if she should be angry that Steve failed to call her, or worried because he _couldn't_ call her, and the fact that she doesn't know how she's supposed to feel scares her.

But at least it's a call. It's not information, but a promise of information once she gets to the Farm. If she's honest, being sent to the Farm is enough to make her want to panic. 

Clint and Natasha guard their home. It's a place their work is not supposed to touch, a place that was hidden even from SHIELD. Falling back to their last line of defense does not inspire confidence.

Nor, it seems, should confidence _be_ inspired by this. They’re watching Iron Man pummel the Hulk into submission and Tommy gives the understatement of the year. “Well, that’s not good.”

Kate swallows the panicked screams that want to tear their way out of her throat and shoves Billy and Tommy out of their homebase. "Let's go, guys. We want to be ready when they call us."

"How do we even know they're going to call us?" Tommy asks

"Because we're better equipped than they are to deal with," Kate waves her hand. "With the two who are like you."

"Like...me?" Tommy says, completely mystified.

"You know! Magic and a speedster."

"Ohhh. I thought you meant really, really ridiculously good looking."

"I thought you meant gay," Billy admits. "What you said makes more sense."

 _I'm going to die_ , Kate thinks, hiding her face in her hands, _surrounded by idiots._

=*=

They are taking a bathroom break when Kate decides it's time to rip the bandage off. 

"Listen up, guys," she says. "We're going to the Farm--"

"We _know_ \--"

"And there's--there's--" _rip it off_. "Nick Fury is there. And alive."

The moment of silence is pure and golden before it's ripped to shreds.

"What the _hell!"_ Billy shouts.

"Are you kidding me? Like, really, are you serious?" From Teddy.

"I'm gonna _cut_ a bitch," Tommy adds.

"Whoa." David holds up his hands. "You all need to calm down. Yes, she's serious, and no, nobody is cutting a bitch."

Tommy rounds on David. "You knew?"

"You guys forget I worked for SHIELD a lot longer than you did," David says, an answer that is not an answer. 

"The point is," Kate raises her voice to be heard, "that Fury is alive, and he's going to be at the Farm. Whatever's going down, this isn't the time for you guys to confront him."

"When would be? So I can put it on my calendar."

She has to remember how much time she's had to get used to this. "I don't know, okay, Billy? I don't need you guys to forgive him, or like him, or even be nice to him. But we are _not_ attacking him, and we are _not_ interrogating him--"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because he doesn’t know!" The words burst out of Kate. "He doesn't know, okay? He's got no damn clue where Cassie is or might be or that she was even still alive until we told him." She points at David and herself. 

"He didn't...he didn't _know_?" Teddy looks as incredulous as he sounds. "How did he _not_ _know_? Dead people coming back to life seems like something the _director_ should know about."

"I am not arguing that point with you, okay? And to be fair, he did start to figure stuff out, that's why Hydra tried to kill him--"

"No thanks," Tommy pulls a face. "I don't want to be fair to him."

"Okay, great." This is going nowhere. "In light of the fact that none of you are listening to me I'd like to remind you all of the Farm's No Bloodshed rule."

A chorus of groans greets her. 

"Yeah. So no fighting. If you decide to put this—which, admittedly, is a big issue—in front of what could potentially be an apocalypse scenario, that is entirely on your own head, and I will take no blame for any exile from the Farm that ensues."

"That's fair." Tommy strides forward, hand outstretched. "Truce?"

"What? I'm not shaking your hand! I'm not negotiating on behalf of Fury, I'm just telling you shits that you'd better not destroy Laura's house or she _wi_ _ll_ destroy you and I won't stop her!" Kate sags against the car. "Do you guys get how bad this is? Clint doesn't take people to the Farm. Natasha doesn't take people to the Farm. They don't talk about the Farm, because the Farm, technically, does not exist." She straightens, shakes it off. "We don’t know what we're walking in to. But we know that it's bad. I want us all to get that."

The boys sober, quiet now. Nodding. 

"Got it, captain," Teddy says, and Tommy laughs. 

=*=

Kate is pulled into a hug by Laura before she gets her feet under her.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she presses a kiss to Kate’s cheek before pulling the rest of Kate’s team in to hugs as well. It's just automatic—Laure is a caretaker, and her kindness spills on anyone in a ten-foot radius. That's why the Farm is a sacred place. They don't bring bad things here. This is the place—the _one_ place that is untouched by all that.

Nick is glaring at her from the porch; that’s pretty normal. He pulls her in for a quick hug as her team troops up the steps, which is…slightly less normal.

“They’ll be here soon, I’d imagine,” Kate informs them. “You’re going to have a full house.”

“Oh joy.” His eyes twitch towards the black box at the back of the house, the thing that Kate knows to hold secret spy gear. Behind her, Kate's boys shuffle awkwardly, the air heavy with words unsaid.

Or, more probably, words unshouted. "Do you know what's going on?" Kate asks Nick.

He regards her, eye narrowed. "There are two assets that the Avengers are going to need your help bringing in."

"Because they're like us," Tommy chimes in.

"And he means fast and magical, not gay," Billy adds.

Kate manages to keep any and all expressions off of her face as Fury gives her a Look.

“So," Kate stalls any other things that might be said. "Do you need help?”

Nick rolls his eye at her. “You’re not helpful. _David_ is helpful. David! You’re with me.”

“Billy! Teddy!” Laura calls from where she has disappeared back inside the house. “You’re with me. We’re gonna need more food.”

Tommy breathes deep next to her. “Ah, the efficiency of the Barton—“

“Tommy!” Laura’s voice rings from the kitchen. “Can you watch the kiddos for me?”

=*=

The Avengers file into the Farm silently, looking battered and off-balance. Clint has his arm around Natasha—Kate has _never_ seen Natasha look this unsteady. It’s a little terrifying.

More than a little.

Clint, honestly, looks the best out of all of them, nodding at Kate and her team. “Glad you kids could make it.”

Steve’s eyes meet hers.

Kate settles her weight back on her heels to keep herself from crossing the room and pulling him into a hug. Something in his eyes _hurts_ her, a visceral pain she doesn't understand, something that is horror and longing and relief, all at once. She’s only seen him look like this after—

After nightmares. Bad ones. Sometimes _everyone dies_ nightmares, sometimes _I dreamed none of this_ _was real_ nightmares. 

“So,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. “The weird one?”

The fear in Steve's eyes disappears, shuttered behind the mask of Captain America. He gives her a curt nod.

Tony Stark looks at her, startled, as if he’s just now seeing her and her team. “Yeah, the weird one—“

“I got your DNA sample,” Clint drags Natasha over with him to hug Kate. She breathes in the familiar smells of superspy and archer. Family. This is her family. 

A small hand tugs at her pants and Kate lets Nat and Clint hold their kids, shuffling them over to Laura and wondering distantly where Nick is. 

“Who are you, anyway?” Tony crosses his arms, muttering and scuffing his feet on the floor like the five-year old he really is. “I mean. I’m confused enough by the constant presence of Katie Bishop, but who are the rest of you? Little Orphan Annies?”

" _Bruce_ ," Tommy coughs so that only the team can hear him.

“Dude.” David stares at Stark. “You seriously don’t know who we are? That’s. Wow. I am _so good_ at what I do. It’s just unreal.”

Kate would roll her eyes except it’s true.

“You seem familiar to me,” Thor starts.

“Well, actually—“

“I got this,” Tommy holds up his hand to stall Kate. “We don't exist; we were never even born. Anonymity is our name. Silence our native tongue. We’re not part of the System. We’re above the System. Over it. Beyond it. We're "them." We're "they." We are the _Men in Black_.”

“Oh Christ Jesus,” Kate drop her head into her hand as David joins Tommy in saying _Men in Black_.

“I have been waiting _years_ to say that,” Tommy grins. “Don’t ruin the moment for me, Kate.”

Dr. Banner, of all people, is the one looking at them with slowly dawning realization. “I remember you. You guys were with us—yeah. Yeah, during the Battle of New York.”

Tony looks less confused now and more horrifically offended. “These _toddlers_? You? You’re the ones we fought with in New York? Would it have killed you to help us out? Where the hell have you been the past few years? Graduating kindergarten?”

“Easy, Stark,” Steve holds his arm out in front of Tony, but he looks at Kate. “They weren’t exactly asked to help.”

“Damn skippy.” Tommy is gone and back in an instant, holding a phone in his hand. “You missed a call from Pepper, dude. You should return that.”

“Tommy,” Kate refrains from rolling her eyes or pressing her fingers against her growing headache. “No pick-pocketing Tony Stark. We talked about this.”

"It's never bothered him before."

" _Before?"_ A shriek edges into Stark's voice. "What do you mean, _before_?"

"All the times, _before_ , when I have pickpocketed you. It didn't bother you then—oh. Right, probably because you didn't know about it. Right."

"Tommy, please not now, okay? Look. Look at him. You're going to give him an aneurism."

Tommy looks like he's ready to fight her on this—why, God only knows—but instead slaps Tony's phone against his shoulder until Stark takes it. "Sorry, man."

"Yeah, no—no problem," Tony manages. "That's--that's fine." He's silent for a moment before the words explode out of him. "Seriously? Seriously? Is nobody going to talk about how this guy looks like the guy we just fought or how Barton has two wives and _kids_ and who these slightly bigger kids are and why—why--"

"Hey, Tony, easy," Kate crosses to him, a hand between his shoulders and one around his elbow, guiding him to the couch. "Deep breaths, okay? It's fine. It's gonna be fine. Put your head between your knees, okay?"

"First JARVIS now this," he says, but more to himself than her. "I'm done with today."

She pats his back until Laura sweeps back in, a queen in her domain, and starts shoving Avengers to showers or jobs. This is Laura's command, and she can have it.

=*=

Kate wanders out of the kitchen a while later, having shoved five loaves of banana bread in the oven. Laura is a firm believer in the healing power of homemade food, and there's a small army currently encamped in her house. Kate will help how she can. 

Steve ignored her as the Avengers changed and got bandaged up, not even meeting her eyes. She doesn't know where he is, but they need to talk—not even about what's going on with him, because something clearly is, but what went down with the Maximoffs and what their next move is.

"What," Kate leans on the porch railing. "Are they _doing_."

"Laura told them to chop wood."

Kate stares at Clint until her gaze burns a hole in his head—metaphorically—and he looks up from the project he's working on with Lila and Cooper. "What?"

"Did you fix the fireplace?"

"No."

"Did anyone?"

Clint grins. "Nope."

"There are birds living in the chimney," Lila informs Kate, matter-of-fact. "Papa said we couldn't do anything until they moved out."

"Right. Okay, so maybe the correct question wasn't _what_ , but _why."_

Clint trades shrugs with his kids. "Because?"

Lila hides a giggle behind her hand as Steve swings the axe and splits a log neatly in two. 

"Did he pack that tight shirt in his own go-bag?" Kate mutters to herself. "Who is he trying to impress with his biceps and his traps--"

Clint coughs and raises his eyebrows at her. 

"I'm just saying, those aren't exactly Steve's home clothes, they're too tight..." Kate trails off as Clint's eyebrows climb ever higher and she realizes what she's implied. 

"And you know what Steve's home clothes look like because...?"

"Because I have a brain," is her retort, but Clint isn't buying it, she can tell. 

"Well, go-bags aren't always go-home-bags," Clint points out. "They're--"

"They're supposed to have clothes that are _comfortable_ , too," she insists, although considering this mission isn't over, maybe it makes sense. It's not like Steve looks super imposing in his faded black sweatpants with a hole worn through the hem on the left ankle, in his _Property of Brooklyn_ shirt that's been stained by paint and charcoal. A tight shirt and jeans still kind of says _hi_ _yes_ _I'm a_ _supersoldier_ _please don't fuck with me._ That logic makes sense, and feels very Steve—he hadn't packed thinking about a post-mission, he'd packed thinking about mid-mission. 

Kate's fingernails dig into the meat of her palm, tingling with sense memory. Steve's home shirt is soft, she knows because she's worn it. It's in a drawer right next to her home clothes, her purple arrow leggings and the oversized grey cardigan she wears when everything, even her skin, hurts. 

You're vulnerable after a mission, and she and Steve share that. They understand that. What Steve's wearing right now is just a different kind of armor, and she _needs_ to know what vulnerability, what wound, he's trying to hide.

"Hey!" Laura steps out of the house with a winsome smile. "Kiddos, can you do me a favor? Can you go find mamotchka and give her big hugs and lots of kisses?" She and Clint exchange a significant look. It's a different dialect of Barton-speak than the one Kate is fluent in, but it can't mean anything but that Natasha isn't doing well. 

"Hey, yeah!" Clint scoops up both of the kids. "Let's go do that!"

"Not doing okay?" Kate asks, voice low, once Clint has disappeared into the house.

Laura shakes her head. "They're all more shaken than they're letting on."

Kate turns to look at Steve, almost on instinct, in time to see him rip apart a log with his bare hands as if it was a piece of paper. She loses track of absolutely everything for roughly three seconds; it's one thing to know Steve is superhuman, and another to see him do _that_. 

When her brain kicks back online, Laura is giving her a soft smile, almost a little sad. She leans in to Kate, touching three fingers to Kate's elbow. "Give me a minute, okay?"

She ambles down the porch steps and over to where Tony and Steve are chopping the absolutely unnecessary piles of logs. She doesn't waddle. Laura knows when you even _think_ the word waddle and—yep. She turns around and shoots Kate a glare before turning to Tony, saying something that sends him in the direction of the barn.

Laura offers Steve a nod before making her way back to the porch and offering Kate a sage nod before she, too disappears, leaving Kate alone with Steve, who has gone back to chopping wood with a vengeance.

Well, no time like the present. Kate hops over the porch railing and makes her way over to Steve.

He ignores her for a solid minute and a half before looking up at her. "You knew?"

"About what?"

"Barton. His family."

Oh. Not what she'd expected. "Well, yeah. Clint is one of my dearest—no, he's family. His family is family."

"You never told me about them."

"Well, you never _asked_ about them," Kate points out. "What they have isn't exactly conventional—not to mention how hard they worked to keep this place secret. _Nobody_ at SHIELD knew about this—super off the books. Coulson didn't even know about this place, and he knew about a lot of the rest of it."

"It's hard to lead a team when everybody is keeping secrets."

Kate stares at him, uncertain if he's being serious. "Everybody keeps secrets. _You're_ keeping secrets from them."

"Really? What secrets?"

Oh god. He _is_ serious. 

"Unbelievable." Kate throws up her hands and walks away. She's almost out to the edge of the woods when she hears the axe thump into wood and Steve's heavy footsteps as he jogs to catch up. 

"Okay. I didn't think that one through," he admits. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, scrubbing his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Kate. This is all just one big fucked-up mess."

Her palms itch to reach out so Kate tucks her hands under her arms. "How can I help?"

"I don't know. Being there. You're right, you have experience with abilities like the Maximoffs have. The next time we go out, I want your team backing us up."

Good. That's a good plan. She nods, then sighs. "Steve, what the hell happened out there?"

"The woman—Wanda—the one with magic, or telekinesis, or whatever it is—she got to all of us. All of us but Barton."

"And?"

"And that's why Banner hulked out and destroyed half a city."

"To be fair, Tony helped destroy it, too," Kate reminds him, reaching out to touch his arm. Steve flinches back from her. "Oh—sorry. Are you—sorry." Heat claws up her neck and slaps her face. She takes a step back, as if she can move away from the sensation of her body being on fire in the worst ways possible. 

"She showed us things," Steve blurts out. "Visions, I guess. I don't know what she showed everyone, but that's why Thor left, why Nat looks like hell. Wanda--she showed me Peggy," Steve continues, unprompted. "The War was over, and we could go home. All the soldiers could go home—only it wasn't right, it was a party but there were guys laughing as they bled out. And then it was all gone, all of them were gone, and I was all alone."

The burning she's felt moves inward, immolating her with feelings she doesn't understand or want. 

"It wasn't just that there wasn't anyone there, Kate—I _felt_ alone. I felt it in my bones, the way it was when I first came out of the ice. I knew I was supposed to call you, and that talking to you would have helped—but all I could think of was, what if you weren't real, either? What if Wanda made you up and stuffed you in my head—what if I called you and you didn't exist, or _we_ didn't exist? I couldn't—not knowing was better." His voice breaks.

Kate finally looks back up at Steve, the dark circles under his eyes, the way the angles of his face seem more pronounced in the dimming light. 

"Wow," she says, finding words that are wholly inadequate for the situation. "That's a lot."

"Yeah." He chuckles, relief of some kind easing some of the tension in him. "Yeah, it is."

He moves closer to her, reaching for her hands, rubbing her knuckles. 

"You're not alone." Kate doesn't mind stating the obvious, because It's been her experience that obvious-ness varies based on your point of view. "You've got, like, a million people who love you who've never even actually met you. You have your team, and Sam, and Nat." Steve lifts her hands so she cups his face, like a cat demanding attention. Kate obliges, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks, moving her hands so the tips of her fingers meet in the velvet-soft hairs at the nape of his neck. "You've got me."

The air splinters out of his lungs, his whole body shuddering the way you do when you're trying not to cry. "Yeah?"

"Of _course_."

Warm hands land on her hips, not to draw her closer, but just to rest. Like Steve is using her as an anchor. _That's_ a lot. Hawkeyes don't anchor people, there's too much burning tire fire in their natures for people to depend on them for emotional stuff. Kate closes her eyes against the thought, as if the insides of her eyelids will banish it. He rests his forehead against hers and now, in addition to feeling embarrassed and hurt and worried, she's angry. Steve's been through so goddamn _much_ , and he shouldn't have to worry about being alone. Nobody does that to Steve. 

"We should head back soon," she says, voice soft because she is loathe to disturb the tentative calm that's settled over him. 

Steve nods against her before straightening up, the way he rolls his shoulders less Steve, more Cap. Steve gets to be vulnerable, gets to show his soft mushy center. Captain America doesn't have that luxury.

Kate doesn't want the Captain right now, she wants her doofy Brooklyn boy who never met a fight he didn't like.  She rolls upon her toes, gives him a peck on the lips.

“Kate—“ he says, warning and want warring in his voice. 

She can see it in his eyes, the exact moment he goes _to_ _hell_ _with it._ His hand tightens on the back of her neck, urging her back up, kissing her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. They kiss like that for a while, and it’s not all heat and passion, it’s a comfort. It’s _home,_ Kate realizes as she sinks back down to her heels.

They should go back now, for real, but Steve doesn’t let her go and she doesn't let go of him. They stand in the slowly fading twilight, just holding each other.

Just home.

=*=

Natasha is digging out sheets and blankets, towels and pillows, Clint is setting up a tent in their big bedroom for the kids to free up two more rooms. The Avengers, for their part, seem to have accepted the fact that here, Laura's word is law, and offer surprisingly little resistance as she's handing out rooms.

“I figured Kate and Steve would bunk together—“ Laura starts just as Clint comes clomping into the kitchen, the kids hanging from his shoulders. 

“What?” Tommy’s mouth is full of food. “Why?”

Laura’s eyes dart to Kate and her lips curl into a smile before she puts on her _you question me in my own house_ _?_ look. "Because I said so," she responds. "Unless either of them object? No? Good."

Steve chances a look at Kate, who lifts a shoulder in a shrug. She hasn't told Laura, but Laura...knows things. Kate's never been able to tell if it comes from living for years with spies, or if Laura's just always been good at reading people. A little of both, probably.  Someone—also probably Laura—has scrounged up a worn hoodie and shirt for Steve, and he looks more like Comfortable Boyfriend Pillow than American Icon.

“Probably so they can whisper top-secret battle plans to each other in the middle of the night,” Tommy suggests.

“Damn right they better be whispering,” David mutters, mostly to himself. “Better not wake me up in the middle of the night with—“

“ _Anyway_ ,” Laura interrupts. “That leaves—“

Tony Stark comes banging in from the barn with Nick in tow. Tony looks offended, Nick looks unimpressed, Clint is looking from Kate to Steve with suspicion that is not unwarranted. 

Nick gives Kate a look that means she's doing a Clint-and-Kate-have-too-many-shared-body-language-tics. A quick check informs Kate that yes, she is doing the head-tilt thing. Nick's smug smile is not necessary at _all_. "What, were you hiding out in the dark corner with the burned-out bulb that you were asked to change this morning?"

Laura's poorly-disguised laugh is all the answer Kate needs.

"How did you—did you _know_ he was alive?" Stark looks between her and Nick like he's watching a tennis match.

"Can you live without a soul?" Kate asks as an aside to David.

Nick catches it, because of course he does, and rolls his eye as he seats himself at the table. "So, he says, gesturing for the rest of them to sit. There's a scramble as people find seats—Clint sits on the counter, she and Steve and Natasha wind up with actual chairs, the teams scattered through the kitchen and living room. "Ultron took you folks out of play to buy himself time. My contacts all say he's building something. The amount of Vibranium he made off with, I don't think it's just one thing."

Tommy raises his hand.

"Yes, Speed?" Nick nods at him. 

"Uh, aren't you dead? How do you have contacts?"

"I'm talking about an extremely powerful artificial intelligence hellbent on destroying the world, and this is your question?"

"So, we've got Ultron building something," Steve cuts off Tommy at the pass. "What about Ultron himself?"

"Oh. He's easy to track, he's everywhere. Guy's multiplying faster than a Catholic rabbit. Still doesn't help us get an angle on any of his plans though."

"He still going after nuclear launch codes?" Tony paces the room.

"Yes, he is, but he's not making any headway."

"Whoa. Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ ," Kate waves the conversation to a stop. "Nuclear launch codes? This didn't seem like pertinent information to share?"

Stark narrows his eyes, studying her like she's a line of code that isn't working or a misfiring cylinder. "I still don't know who you _are_."

Nick looks at her, raising a questioning eyebrow. Kate responds with a slight nod. 

"They're you. The Avengers, before the Avengers were Avengers." Nick looks at her, at Tommy and Teddy, Billy and David. "Handpicked, just like you were, Stark. A new type of operative for a new era."

Tommy moans in a pained manner.

"Don't give me that, Shepherd, that's the line that got you in," Nick points out. "I trust them, and we need all the help we can get."

" _I_ trust them," Steve says, cutting off Tony's protest. "We've worked with them before, even if we didn't realize it. They're the ones who got us the lead on Strucker." He leans back in his seat and stretches his legs out under the table, nudging her feet with his own. 

"Right," Bruce steps away from the wall, where he and Natasha were having a quiet conversation. "Setting aside the fact that I feel like I've seen all of you kids before--"

"Not kids," David points out.

"You have," Teddy adds.

"We're fellow members of the _Thaddeus Ross Needs to Die_ Club," Billy says. They're all so in sync it's disgusting and Kate loves them. 

Bruce looks at each of her team in turn, his head whipping back and forth comically fast before he stares at her with a wide-eyed intensity. "Wait." Banner says again. " _Wait_." He moves so he's kneeling in front of Kate, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to peer at her, craning his head to stare at Tommy. " _Wait a minute_."

"What's shakin', bacon?" Kate asks with a caution born of experience.

It's also, honestly, the completely wrong thing to say because Banner's eyes go even wider with recognition, like the proximity between her and Fury and Tommy and the rest is finally sinking in. 

"You!"

"Me what?"

"You! I've met you before! In India! And Tibet..." He trails off. "And Chile? Your whole team!" He gestures at them before his gaze lands on Fury. "This is your goon squad!"

" _Goon_ squad?" Billy's eyebrows climb higher than Kate has ever seen them in mortal offense. "Excuse me?"

"You! You—you always showed up right before Ross!"

"Yeah. You're welcome," Teddy says in a way that only kind of implies an _or else_.

Bruce is still clearly not getting it so Natasha steps in. "Remember when we first met, and I told you SHIELD stayed out of your way, even kept other interested parties away?"

"Yeah?"

Natasha inclines her head. "Your team."

" _My_ team?" This is clearly too much for the good doctor, who stumbles into a seat. "I have—I have a team?"

"Had," Fury corrects. 

"That doesn't make any sense. None of this makes sense."

"We had an...unfortunate run-in with General Ross very early on in our...careers? Let's go with careers," Kate decides. "So we—you know what. You're looking a little lost. Maybe we should just--Teddy, do you mind?"

"Not at all." Teddy steps forward and in the span of a blink unfurls his wings, shedding his human appearance for his larger, greener, more Skrull one.

"Woah!" Banner pushes back, skidding across the wooden floor. " _What_."

"If people don't know they should be looking for differences, they tend not to," Kate muses. 

"You'd think wings would be a dead giveaway," Teddy supplies. "Misdirection is a beautiful thing. Ross was always looking in the right direction, just...never quite the right spot."

"See?" Clint mutters to Natasha. "They _did_ learn stuff from me."

Kate turns back to Banner as the green fades from Teddy and he shrinks back to human size. "Also, unrelated, we sort of became the unofficial Abomination containment unit, and Blonsky straight-up sucks. That guy is the worst."

"Fuck Blonsky," Tommy adds, because tradition.

"We...know," Billy stumbles around the words. "We know the kinds of things Ross likes to do to people with enhancements. Abilities. Powers. We didn't think it was right for him to do that to you."

Banner swallows. "Yeah. I guess I can see that. Why you might feel that way. Uh. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Doctor." Kate smiles. 

"You look, uh. Different," he backs away from her. "Without the headscarf. And with white hair," he gestures to Tommy.

"I know, right? I look crazy with brown hair." Tommy checks his reflection in the window.

"Might I remind you that there is an artificial intelligence that wants to destroy humankind," Fury says with a sigh.

"Yeah, well so far that artificial intelligence hasn't shredded the inside of my knee or broken Tommy's leg or sprained Teddy's wing, so."

"I feel like we're a little off topic here. Maybe we should get back to nuclear codes?" Steve suggests, tapping her elbow to draw her focus back. "And how Ultron is trying to get them."

Tommy coughs. 

"Yeah, and more importantly, how is he not?" Kate glances at Tony. "If Ultron is anywhere near as smart as Stark is, I don't get how we're not all being bathed in radiation."

"Psh. Stark isn't all that smart." David mutters, just loud enough that _everyone_ can hear him.

"Excuse you. I cracked the Pentagon's firewall in high school on a dare."

David scoffs. "High school? Dare? I cracked it in eighth grade because I was _bored_."

Nick turns his back on Tony and David, clearly done with their shit. "I contacted our friends at the NEXUS about that."

"NEXUS?" Steve turns to Kate, as if she'll be able to offer him any insight.

"The NEXUS?" David stops insulting Stark just in time to look horribly offended at Steve and Kate. "It's the world internet hub in Oslo. Every byte of data flows through there, fastest access on earth. I want to go to there." He says reverently, turning back to Stark. " _What's the NEXUS_ , and they call themselves our leaders."

"So what'd they say?"

"He's fixated on the missiles, but the codes are constantly being changed. Don't know who it is." Fury scratches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"Do we have an ally?" Natasha pipes up for the first time, looking better than she had a few hours ago, but still rough.

"Ultron's got an enemy, that's not the same thing. Still, I'd pay folding money to know who it is."

"What's folding money?" Tommy stage whispers.

"I might need to visit Oslo, find our _unknown_. You should come with me." Tony slaps David on the shoulder. "Maybe you could learn a thing or two."

"What does he want, though?" Billy finally comes forward. He's been keeping quiet, still unnerved by Wanda and Pietro, the fact that they're so like him and Tommy. "The Vibranium, the scepter, the Maximoffs—what's the endgame with that?"

"The Vibranum's easy. What he wants from that is to become better. Better than us. He keeps building bodies." There's a gouge in the table that Steve runs his fingers along as he speaks, worrying the line as he turns the problem over in his head.

"Not just any bodies." Tony is quick to point out. "Person bodies. The human form is inefficient. Biologically speaking, we're outmoded. But he keeps coming back to it."

"That's not entirely true. In some ways, maybe we are outmoded, but compared to other species? We're weird." Kate turns to Tony. "So he hates us, but he wants to be us...because we have the ability to mu--" the air catches in her chest. She has to grip the edge of the table and grit her teeth just to get the word out. " _Mu_ _tate_. And evolve. Across the galaxy, races mutate," it comes easier now, "and evolve, but not in the _ways_ humans do. Not that he knows that."

"Wow," Natasha says into the silence. "When you two programmed him to protect the human race, you massively failed."

"Humans don't need to be protected," Banner taps his glasses against his palm. "They need to evolve. Like Hawkeye said, mutate.  Ultron's going to evolve."

"How?" 

"Oh, no." Kate and David lock eyes, reaching the conclusion at the same time.

"Doctor Cho," David starts. 

"And her people printer," Kate gestures at Clint. "Has anyone--"

"I'll try and get in contact with her," Tony offers. 

"Meanwhile, get some rest." Nick stands, surveys the room. "Even groups of extraordinary people need rest. And food."

"When we head out, I'll take the Hawkeyes and Natasha," Steve inclines his head towards Kate, turning it into a question. She nods.

 **"** Alright, me and—what's your name? _Prodigy?_ We're strictly recon. Hit the NEXUS, join you as soon as we can. If Ultron is really building a body, he'll be more powerful than any of us. Maybe all of us. An android designed by a robot. Kind of exciting, actually." Tony backs away from all the glares he's getting. "No? Wrong crowd, I see that now."

Steve throws his head back and stares at the ceiling. "You know, I really miss the days when the weirdest thing science ever created was me."

=*=

Stark has started running the Maximoff's DNA—not that he knows who he’s testing against, but he’s doing it with minimal amount of complaining, so that’s something. He has actually shooed her out of the living room, so she wanders, which is how Kate finds Nick, backed into a literal corner by her team.

“We just had a few questions,” the words are sharp and precise, every one of Tommy’s movements restrained. “About Project Resurrection.”

“Project Resurrection was supposed to be an idea, not a reality.” Nick looks at them, at each one of her boys. "I don't expect you to trust me, but this is not something I signed off on. I cared about you kids. Still do."

"Have you seen the footage?" Teddy shoves a tablet in Fury's face. "Of her being tortured. Brainwashed."

"I know."

"That's all you have to say?" Tommy's voice grows louder before Billy touches his shoulder, as if to remind him that this is supposed to be covert. "That's it?"

"What would you like me to say? That I'm sorry? I am. That I didn't know about it? I didn't. None of those things helps Cassie, and none of them help us save the world right now."

"Dude," Tommy jabs a finger at Fury. "That's a shitty answer--"

"And he knows it," Kate finally steps in. "Guys. Please go get some rest. I know that--"

"No. You kept this secret from us," Tommy rounds on her. "You don't get to--"

"Yes, I do, actually." Kate snaps, toe-to-toe with Tommy. "I do. I told you guys about Cassie as soon as I found out. Right now you need to drop it."

"Why? You're doing plenty of dropping it without any help from us."

Kate reels back. "Excuse me?"

David shoulders between Tommy and Kate. "Tommy, that's not true at all. Kate's looking. _I'm_ looking. We're—we're looking. She could be anywhere, and the world is vast. We have _no idea_ where she could be. You need to chill."

Tommy shoves David. "This is bullshit. You act like the team is so important, but where's Cassie, huh? How long have you had to look for her? You've had the former director of SHIELD _right here_ this whole time and have you interrogated him? Taken him out for a weekend in the country, or whatever it is Rollins taught you? You haven't done _shit!_ "

Kate puts herself back in front of Tommy, snarling. "That is _not_ how we operate, it's _never_ been and it _never will be_ \--"

Kate's skin is burning and the blood is rushing to her head and Tommy, who was so close she could see his pores, is now much farther away. "That is _not what we do_!" She shouts again. David is between her and Tommy and she's in the air--

What.

"Okay, Hawkeye, you need to take a deep breath, okay?"

She is slung over Steve's shoulder.

Tommy doesn't look angry anymore, just stunned. "What did I say?"

"Well, you were being a dick," Teddy points out. "I mean, yeah, we all want to find Cassie, maybe Fury does know something, but implying Kate isn't doing everything she can--"

"Kate?" Steve sets her down on the sofa, kneeling in front of her. "You need to breathe. Breathe. Talk to me."

"A weekend in the country," the words squeak out of her. "A weekend—a weekend--" Kate is vaguely aware that she is rocking back and forth. Rollins' face swims into view. She can _feel_ the bamboo under her fingernails and water burning her nose and lungs and--

"Shit." Steve curls his hand around the back of her neck, pressing their foreheads together. Anchoring her. "You're not there anymore, Hawkeye. You're here. The Bartons. Breathe. He's not here."

Her pulse pounds in her ears like waves battering the shore. Her head is white noise, her body a static crackle as she reminds herself that Tommy didn't know what he was saying. She's not there. She's home, with Steve and her boys and the Barton clan and the world about to end, and she needs to _get it together._

"Okay," Tommy says. "Does anybody else feel like they missed something really important?"

=*=

"I could have done without that," Kate says to the door once she and Steve make it to the room they're sharing. 

Steve stretches out on top of the bed, taking up most of it. "Which part?"

"The meltdown? Trying to explain the meltdown? Explaining it without really explaining it? Literally all of it?"

He _hmms_ at her. "Maybe you needed it."

"Not before taking on a genocidal robot! That's the epitome of bad timing."

"The epitome of bad timing would been it happening when we face Ultron."

"Yeah." Kate leans against the door and sighs. "I feel like my head isn't screwed on right."

Steve props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at her. "You need to be benched for this one?"

"No. Definitely not. It's not serious, it's just like....when you walk into a room and forget why you went into it. It's like that. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Kate flops down next to Steve on the bed. She can feel his eyes on her as she stares resolutely at the ceiling, even as he tangles their fingers together. 

"You know, Kate--"

"Steve, if I'm going to have a meltdown I'm going to save it until after Ultron is done, okay? I'm not doing it now."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Oh. Okay." Kate turns to look at him. "What were you going to say, then?"

He locks eyes with her, staring but not revealing anything. "Okay. That _is_ what I was going to say. I'm trying to be supportive!"

"I appreciate your support." Kate rolls on top of him and gives him a kiss to show her thanks. 

"Not to change the subject," he says, interrupting himself to kiss her. "Because I really like the subject," another kiss, "but did Fury and Natasha go into Laura and Clint’s room?”

“I told you. Unconventional.” 

He shrugs and nods, leans up to kiss the scar on her chin. “You feel good about the plan?”

“I feel okay about the plan.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at her, clearly less than convinced. “David will be fine,” he assures her. “Stark might be an idiot sometimes, but he’s not going to purposefully put someone in harm’s way.”

“Yeah,” she lets Steve pull her into his arms then, trying to get her muscles to uncoil. Tony Stark isn’t exactly a Good Person, but he’s not entirely a dick, either.

“We do better together, is all,” she finally says. She feels more than sees Steve’s nod as she tucks her face against his neck for a moment. "Thank you. For stopping me from ripping Tommy's face off."

"I know you didn't want them to know. I'm sorry that happened."

"I'm not. You were right, it's nice to—to not have that secret from them."

"I'm what?"

"Oh my god." She presses her face more fully against his shoulder so her words are muffled. "You were _right."_

Steve's chuckle is warm. "Nice of you to say so."

"Yeah, yeah," Kate grumbles, reaching over to turn off the lamp. "Good night, Steve."

"Goodnight, Hawkeye."

Kate closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing. Sleep. She needs to sleep. 

She doesn't know how long she lays there, but it feels like a small eternity until Steve's chest rises and falls in a sigh.

"You, too?" She asks.

"Yeah. Too many variables. Too much to think about."

Kate sits up. "Okay. Well, if we're not sleeping, we should do something."

"You wanna go over the plan?"

"That is definitely a thing we could do. Or," Kate straddles Steve, settling her weight across his hips. "We could do this?"

Steve's hands are already sliding up her shirt. "Your plan is definitely better than mine."

>>>\---->

"Ready to go, kid?" Clint flips some switches as Kate adjusts her headset. 

"Don't call me kid."

"Okay, sport."

Natasha and Steve load in and the Hawkeyes finish final flight checks. "How are we for fuel? It's that one over there--"

"Clint, I've flown a spaceship before, I know where the fuel gauge is."

Steve covers his laugh with a cough.

"Geez, Captain Hawkeye, calm down. What's got you in a twist? Didn't you get some last night?"

There is the very distinctive sound of Steve's shield clattering on the metal floor of the quinjet.

"Uh. What?"

Clint looks at her out of the corner of his eye. "C'mon, girly-girl. I'm deaf, not blind. And don't you worry, Cap," Clint flicks a few more switches and the quinjet leaves the ground. "You and I are gonna have a nice long chat later."

 _"Cl_ _int_. No. Tasha, back me up here."

"Uh, no." Natasha straps herself in. "I know better than to get in the middle of Hawkeye stuff. I learned that lesson in '08 when you had the flu. And in 2010 when you threw yourself off a building after Clint." She pauses. "And in '11, with the cave-in. And--"

"We _get it_ , Tash." Kate snaps, flipping switches with more vigor than probably necessary. 

"Katie, look, I love you, but objectively, you have terrible taste in men. Maybe Cap is different, but still. I gotta look out for you. Women, now," Clint says more to himself. "You have good taste in women."

"This conversation is officially over," Kate informs him, turning on Stark's playlist, which is guaranteed to be something you can't talk over. 

=*=

"Did she say gem?"

Kate knows Cho said gem. She's just really, really hoping she misheard.

"Why?" Steve is panting, probably running. "That mean something to you?"

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. "Yeah, it's—there are these magical stones of immense power, right? They do different things. Some of them can level whole worlds. If one of them is in the Cradle—just try not to touch it with your bare hands, okay?"

"Wait," Steve says after a moment, and Kate can see his figure, small on top of an overpass. "Is this about that tree you met a while back?"

"His name is Groot, Steve, I don't know how many times--"

"Not to interrupt this truly fascinating conversation, but I can see a truck from the lab. Right above you, Cap. On the loop by the bridge. I got three with the Cradle, one in the cab."

"And I got a private jet taking off, across town, no manifest. That could be him." Natasha chimes in.

Clint loops the quinjet. "I could take out the driver."

"Absolutely not," Kate says. "Did you not hear what I just said about leveling whole worlds? We can't let the truck crash."

"We need to draw out Ultron." Steve gets a running start and lands on the top of the truck, rolling with his momentum. The truck rounds a curve and through their comms Kate can hear the sound of a blast and then a thud as Steve hits something. 

"Well, he's definitely unhappy!" Steve is hanging on to the door of the truck, now scraping along the road. He sounds way too pleased for someone in his position. "I'm gonna try and keep him that way."

"You're not a match for him, Cap." 

"Thanks, Barton." There's definitely an implied _asshole_ in Steve's tone.

"Oh my god."

"What?" Clint turns to Kate. "I'm trying to help."

"You have _met_ Steve, right? Telling him he can't do something is basically like--"

"Like telling either of you not to do something," Natasha finishes.

Below them, Steve is still engaged with Ultron, who is tossing him around like a sack of potatoes. Too far away to do anything, too many civilians to open fire. They need to send someone in.

Clint maneuvers the quinjet as low as he safely can and Kate opens the bay door. 

"Nat, you've got a window." Clint counts it off for her. "Four, three...give 'em hell."

Natasha drops out of the plane on a motorcycle and guns off to find Steve. Kate side-eyes Clint. "You guys are so cute I wanna barf."

He just laughs. 

They lose visual not long after that, and the audio is mostly just the sound of Steve getting punched and Natasha telling civilians to get out of the way.

"Did she just say _beep_ _bee_ _p_?" Kate asks. "Like, with her mouth?"

Clint shrugs.

"Hey, can you guys draw out the guards?"

The Hawkeyes share a look. 

"Let's find out. You wanna gun or run?"

"Is that a trick question?" Kate flips a few switches and readjusts her grip on her controls. "Gun, always."

Clint brings them in tight around the corner of a building and Kate opens fire on Ultron. It doesn't do anything to him, of course, but his guards launch themselves at the quinjet, which was the point.

What was _not_ the point was the guardbots to latch onto the wings of the quinjet. Kate knows what Clint is going to do before he even does it—because a vertical climb followed by a barrel roll is exactly what she would have done. 

The guards are flung into the air, but instead of regrouping, they fall back to the truck.

"Whatever you're going to do, do it now," Clint advises.

"Right. I'm going in." Natasha is faintly visible from the air, her motorcycle weaving in and out of traffic until she launches herself from it and dives into the truck. "Cap! Can you keep him occupied?" 

"What do you _think_ I've been doing?"

"Tasha, watch your six, those things are heading back to the truck." They lose visual for another six seconds and in that time the guards have attached themselves to the sides of the truck and are lifting it up.

"The package is airborne," Clint informs the team. "We have a clean shot."

"Negative! I am still in the truck."

Kate breaks her focus to glance at Clint, who looks just as surprised as she feels. 

"Nat, what the hell are you...?"

"Just be ready," she interrupts him. "I'm sending the package to you."

Clint shifts in his seat. "How do you want me to take it?"

"Uhh, you might wish you hadn't asked that."

This, it turns out, is absolutely, one-hundred percent true. Natasha and the Cradle come sailing through the air, skidding into the hold of the quinjet. Kate smacks the button to close the doors, ripping her harness off so she can help Natasha secure the giant metal reverse-sarcophagus, but before any of them can do anything, one of the guards—maybe even Ultron himself—grabs Tasha by the ankle and yanks her back out into the air

"Tasha! Hawkeye, you see Tash?"

"Negative, swing back around--"

"Hawkeye, if you have the package, get it to Stark! Go!" Steve barks the order and Clint and Kate share a moment of _how about fuck no_ before Clint grits his teeth and turns the quinjet around, heading them out of the city. 

"Black Widow, come in. Do you copy?" Kate's voice is measured and calm. "Black Widow to Hawkeye. Do you read me? Black Widow, this is Hawkeye. Come in, Black Widow."

"We're out of range." Clint's voice is wooden. 

"Damnit!" Kate slams her hand against the side of the quinjet. " _Dammit_ _!"_

=*=

"This is sealed tight," Clint observes of the Cradle, once it is unloaded safe and sound at the Tower. 

"We could get in," Kate adds. "But all of my ways are either gonna take longer than we want or involve explosions."

Clint paces the lab, staring at the Cradle.

"We're going to have to break it down from the inside," Banner muses, but nobody is fully listening to him. 

"Hey, Barton," Tony claps Clint on the shoulder. "Any chance Natasha might leave you a message, outside the internet, old school spy stuff?"

"Yeah. Yeah." The intensity in Clint's face changes, becomes more purposeful. "Yeah, you're right. There's some nets I can cast. I'll find her."

He strides off, and Kate mouths _thank you_ to Tony before following after.

Once she's convinced that Clint is actually trying to find Tasha and not in danger of sneaking off in the quinjet, Kate scrounges up some food for them both. She stays in case he needs help, and when it's clear he doesn't, Kate wanders, unable to sit still any longer. 

She runs into David in one of the long glass corridors that seem to be the only thing that exists on this floor. He's flanked by Billy and Teddy. Together, they drag her to a small, windowless room that Tommy is zooming around. 

"How long have you been back?" Billy asks.

"A few hours."

"You get the Cradle?"

"Yeah." Kate stares at the floor, running her hands through her hair before looking back up. "Ultron got Natasha and we have no idea where Steve wound up."

"So Stark and Banner are alone with the Cradle? You think that's a good idea?"

"What are you talking about?"

David stares at her. "He didn't tell you? What am I saying, of course he didn't tell you. The guy, the ally, the one we went to Oslo for--it was JARVIS."

"What?"

"Yeah, Stark and I pieced him back together—Ultron destroyed JARVIS, right? But it wasn't because he was mad—it's because JARVIS can beat him. JARVIS is beating him, without even knowing there was someone to beat."

Kate paces, half listening, something nagging at her brain. 

Steve strides in before she can figure it out, the Maximoffs, of all people, in tow. "Hey, where's Barton?"

"He's seeing if Tasha's left him a message somewhere..." Kate trails off, meeting Steve's eyes. 

"That means--"

"He and Banner are alone with the android." Wanda finishes. "I _told_ you."

Kate and David don't need to know what Wanda was telling Steve--they can guess well enough anyway. They all take off for the lab where, like some sort of cosmic joke, Tony and Bruce are doing the same damn thing that got them all in this situation in the first place. 

While Steve and Banner and Stark trade words about logic and the Maximoffs, Kate has figured out what she was missing earlier, the thing in the back of her brain nagging her. 

A breeze ruffles her hair and Kate figures it's one of the speedsters doing something she'd rather not know about as she steps up to Tony. "You know, Fury always said you were a lot more like your old man than you realized."

"What?" Tony stares at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you _serious?_ " Kate gestures to the Cradle that is now hemorrhaging power. "It's a metal cylinder that a superhuman might pop out of! Do we _have_ to be in Brooklyn for you to see the parallel?"

Tony looks insulted as he glares at her, then Steve. "That's not what this is!"

"Hey, look, I get it," Billy holds his hands up placatingly. "Making a golem, sounds great at first. It is not. You have to stop."

It's out-and-out chaos then, Steve flinging his shield and Tony summoning his armor, blue and red light from Billy and Wanda tangling through the space until Thor comes crashing in with the lightning and then the body from the Cradle bursts out of the metal box. Everyone's focus is on the being floating around like some sort of android angel, the gem in the middle of his forehead glowing.

God, even when she was getting paid she wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with this.

"I'm sorry, that was...odd." The android-robot-AI looks around at all of them, taking them in before turning to Thor. "Thank you."

"Thor," Steve turns to him, defensive. "You helped create this?"

"I've had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life and at its center is that." He points to the stone. "It's the Mind Stone. It's one of the six Infinity Stones, the greatest power in the universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities."

Billy stares at Thor with an intensity that belies the power he's going to possess one day. "And you thought bringing the Mind Stone to life was a good idea because...?"

"Because Stark is right." 

"Great," Teddy says, after a very pregnant pause. "So the world is for real going to end in the next twelve hours."

Thor continues as if none of them have spoken. "The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron."

"Not alone." Stark's latest creation floats over to Steve, studying his face.

Steve stares right back. "Why does your _vision_ sound like JARVIS?" 

"We reconfigured JARVIS' matrix to create something new," Tony admits, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Something better."

"You're kidding, right?" Billy stares. "Please tell me someone else is hearing this. Your first try is a crazed killing machine, and your second try is hopefully better? Good becomes great, bad becomes worse? _Nobody_?"

Kate can't see him, bus she can _feel_ the hackles raise on Steve.

"Billy, we can't all be Erskine fanboys," Kate tries to comfort him, but only earns a snort from Tony.

"If you knew that was an Erskine quote then I think we can call you a fanboy, too, Bishop."

"And the fact that you knew what we were talking about says that you should have known better, Stark," Billy shoots back.

"Thor or no," Teddy steps between all of them. "I don't think we can trust something that came from Ultron."

"You think I'm a child of Ultron."

"You're not?" Steve looks just as curious as he is wary, now.

Thor's vision...Vision? Looks perplexed, like he, too, is unsure of his existence. "I'm not Ultron. I'm not JARVIS. I...I am."

The sound is very, very faint, but Kate is fairly certain that David is muffling a high-pitched squeal.

Wanda steps forward, hands clenched around one another. "I looked in your head and saw annihilation." 

"Look again."

"Yeah," Clint snorts. "Her seal of approval means jack to me."

"Maybe it should," Tony pipes up, collecting quite a few glares for his trouble. "What? Maybe it should. All that talk Hydra had in their files about giving the twins their powers, about it coming from the scepter--the Mind Stone, right? How would that even have worked? A _mind_ stone giving you guys your powers doesn't make sense. But think: what did Loki use the scepter for when he had it?"

"Mind control," Kate says, when it becomes clear nobody else is going to say it. "What are you getting at, Tony?"

“I ran the DNA,” Stark says, fiddling with a screen and turning it to them. “Like you asked. Uh. Here it is.”

“Wow,” Kate says, biting back the sarcasm. “Amazing. What the hell are we looking at?”

“Your two boys,” Tony throws a little of the Stark Showman into his voice. “Are related to Wanda and Pietro.”

“Great,” Kate shrugs, burying her nerves under a mountain of nonchalance. “Cousins? Siblings?”

Wanda is staring at the four pictures Tony has pulled up above the DNA profiles, of Tommy, Billy, Pietro, and Wanda herself.

The Vision looks at Tommy and Billy. "You were adopted, were you not?"

"Yeah." Tommy crosses his arms and glares. "So what?"

"Out of an orphanage in the city formerly known as Doomstadt," Vision continues, his voice a gentle prodding clearly intended to lead them down a certain path. 

"So?" Tommy repeats.

"It's Sokovia," Pietro puts in, not sounding terribly impressed. "Doomstadt was renamed Sokovia. Everyone knows that."

"That's patently untrue, and I feel like you know that," David says in an undertone. "C'mon."

Wanda steps forward, peering intently at Billy and Teddy before something crosses her face and she crashes to her knees, clutching her head.

“Wanda?” Pietro rushes to her side. “Wanda, what is wrong?”

Kate kneels in front of the woman.

“Wanda,” she says softly, holding Wanda’s hand. “Breathe, Wanda. Keep breathing, okay? In…two….three….four….there you go.” Kate glances up at Vision and he offers her a small smile and a nod, reminding her that not three days ago JARVIS gave her the same advice.

“I remember,” Wanda gasps, wrapping her arms around herself. “You boys, you're mine, aren’t you?”

“That’s not possible,” Banner jumps in. “You can’t be old enough to—“

“Look, I don’t know if anyone noticed, but Hydra and even SHIELD have this strange habit where they pump people full of a serum and freeze them. Does wacky things when it comes to looking your age,” Steve stands a little behind Kate and Wanda, arms crossed.

“Don’t forget the brainwashing,” Kate adds. Billy creeps up, tentative, reaching his hand out, his fingers light on Wanda's shoulder. 

“How could I have forgotten the brainwashing?”

“So you are saying,” Pietro looks from Stark, to Steve, to his sister. “That we were—brainwashed into forgetting our pasts? We remember being children. Playing together—“

“It’s not impossible,” Clint says from where he’s been silent in the corner. “They alter certain memories, insert false ones, block true ones. It’s hard to completely erase memories, but damaging neural pathways enough so that you can’t access them is easier. Or--” he falters, distancing himself from what he's about to say. "The scepter. Makes you focus on a mission, on a duty or a job. On obedience. Makes you forget other things, because they aren't important. When Loki--I didn't even remember that I had a family. I didn't remember their names."

“This was done to you?” Pietro asks.

“And Natasha.”  Clint’s voice is even. “You know, the woman Ultron nabbed because you two were idiots.”

"Hang on a second," Tommy steps forward, hands outstretched. "Let's back up. You're saying she's our _mom_?"

"Genetics don't lie," Tony shrugs. 

"But I don't remember," Wanda starts, shaking her head.

"The scepter," Clint interrupts her. "The—mind stone, or whatever. Any brainwashing would have— _could_ have been amplified by that."

“SHIELD-slash-Hydra had access to that technology before the mind stone anyway,” David pipes up from the corner. Everyone turns to look at him. “What? You expect me to believe you didn’t try and sneak a peek at what SHIELD had hiding in their files?”

“So giving you false memories—it’s something Hydra has the ability to do and a history of doing it,” Steve summarizes.

“They took us?” Pietro sounds slightly stunned. “And they—how much was a lie?”

“We’ll help you find out,” Clint promises. It's clear, now he's connected the twins with him and Natasha, he feels protective of them. “We will. All of us, we’ll help you. But first—“

“First, we save the world,” Steve looks around at the lot of them, turning to the Vision. "Are you on our side?"

"I don't think it's that simple."

Clint stands, drawing the debate away from the shellshocked group of Wanda, Pietro, Billy and Tommy. "Well, it better get real simple real soon." 

Vision appears to ponder this. "I am on the side of life. Ultron isn't. He will end it all. All he is waiting for...is you."

"Where?" Steve has the fight in his teeth now. Shoulders back, Captain America showing through. 

"Sokovia," Clint answers. "He's got Nat there too."

"If we're wrong about you," Banner starts, and it's a toss-up as to if he's questioning or threatening, "if you're the monster that Ultron made you to be..."

"What will you do?" Vision looks at them all again. "I don't want to kill Ultron. He's unique, and he's in pain. But that pain will roll over the earth, so he must be destroyed. Every form he's built, every trace of his presence on the net, we have to act now. And not one of us can do it without the others. Maybe I am a monster. I don't think I'd know if I were one. I'm not what you are, and not what you intended. So there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go." In a fluid motion, he picks Thor's hammer up and offers it to the stunned god of thunder. Kate has the sudden desire to text Sam _we have a winner and it's Tony and Bruce's robotic lovechild_ _idek_ _man_.

"Right." Thor stares as Vision walks away and pats Tony heavily on the shoulder. "Well done."

Steve clears his throat. "Okay. Three minutes. Get what you need."

Kate trails after Clint to his mission supply hidey-hole, grabbing arrows and stashing them various places on her suit. When she looks up, he's staring at a photo, one of him and Tasha, Laura, Nick, and the kids. 

"Hey." She squeezes his shoulder. "We're going to get her, and then we're getting the both of you home."

He gives the picture one last look before tucking it close to his chest. "I know."

"Good." She musses his hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head. He gives her a gentle shove and she takes the hint, leaving him to go check on Billy. She finds Steve instead.

"You ready?" He doesn't look at her as he asks, fiddling with his gauntlets.

"For evil murderbots who want to destroy the planet? Always." Kate adjusts her arm guard and shooting glove. "You?"

His silence is suspicious, and when he finally speaks, Kate is ready to fight.

"I'm not sure I like all of us going," he finally says. "If something happens and we can't contain him--"

"And who do you want to leave behind, exactly?"

They stare at each other, and she _dares_ him to say it. 

He blinks first, shaking his head with a small smile, like he knows he lost. "You _are_ the one with all the apocalypse contingency plans."

“That's just part of modern life," she points out. “It's like a hobby. _You're_ the star-spangled man with a plan. You'd be a better choice to stay."

He doesn't argue the point, can't argue it. "What about the twins? _Your_ twins. They good?"

"Wiccan and Speed are solid. They know how to set stuff aside for the job." Steve doesn't quite look like he believes her. "We do better together. I'm not throwing a wrench in the works because you're a little nervous."

"I'm not nervous." 

Now she's the one with the disbelieving expression. 

"What? I'm not. You're going to have my six, right?"

Kate nods as Steve takes a step closer. "You know I will."

"How could I be nervous when Hawkeye has my six?" He unleashes the full force of his pure _Steve_ grin. 

A blush heats her cheeks as she ignores his face in favor of checking some of his body armor straps, tightening things that have gotten loose, repositioning his shield harness. "Stow the sentiment, Rogers. You just do your job, and I’ll do mine and since both of our jobs are saving the world, I think we’ll be okay.”

She can see a muscle twitch in Steve’s jaw. She is familiar with this muscle, she usually calls it the Angry Patriot since it does The Thing when he’s mad or when’s trying to hold back something incendiary he wants to say. He looks like he's chewing on something he's going to regret if he says it or if he doesn't.

“Spit it out, Rogers." She slaps his shoulders, brushing off imaginary dust. “Tomorrow’s too late.”

"I can't lose you," he says in a rush. "I don't want anything to..."

"You think I'll be okay if something happens to you?" Kate fills his silence, trying to lighten the mood. 

Steve balls his hands into fists, closing his eyes. His exhale is paced to calm as he sighs and steps closer to her. "No unnecessary risks."

"You know I can't make that promise."

"It's an order."

"Since when do you order me around?" Kate sees something in Steve's face that makes her relent. Her hands on his shoulders, she looks him in the eye. "Whatever happens, we're going to do this together."

He nods, slowly. "Okay."

Steve's arms around her aren't immediate—more like they drift together, her arms around his neck and his around her ribs, lifting her up so that her toes don't even skim the floor. " _You_ don't take any unnecessary risks." Her voice is distorted by how tightly they are holding one another, and it's probably undermining the authority in her voice. 

"You know I can't make that promise," he parrots. 

"Yeah. I know." Kate tucks her face against his neck, breathing in his familiar smell. 

"Kate. Come back. That's all I ask, that you come back."

She thinks. She breathes. 

"Okay."

=*=

Kate stands at the bay door of the quinjet, hand wrapped in a strap as she looks over at Billy and Teddy. The wind whistles loudly enough she has to shout to be heard. "You boys ready?"

Teddy kneels so he can unfurl his wings without smacking the sides of the plane. "We were born ready."

"Our priority is civilians," Steve reminds them.

"We got it, Cap." She releases the strap, taking careful steps towards Teddy and the open air.

Steve puts a hand on her shoulder before glancing over at Billy. "I remember how this went in New York. You sure you can handle two of us?"

Billy blinks. "I've been practicing."

"Pack it in, boys. Let's go."

Teddy launches himself out, wings beating against the air. Kate turns and smiles at Wiccan. "Nice and easy."

His answering nod is solemn as Kate sets her hand on top of Steve's, making sure that they won't separate and make things harder for Billy on the way down. "Stay safe, boss."

She flashes him a smile. "Always try," and with that, she walks them off of the quinjet. Blue light surrounds them, dropping them towards the ground. Fast is better, less of a chance for distraction, but it also means they hit the ground hard enough that her knees buckle. Steve catches her elbow and keeps her upright, so neither of them even lose a step.

"Hey," Hulkling says, landing without even so much as a _thump,_ his wings folded carelessly against his back. "Can you two tone down the power couple?"

"Let's get to work," is what Kate says, instead of the _you're one to talk_ that she'd like to say.

The idea is to clear Sokovia out from opposite sides with the goal to meet at Ultron in the city center. 

Which goes about as well as one could expect in a city that’s been taken over by a sentient robot intent on global destruction.

Which is to say, not well at all. Civilians are panicking, but heading out of town in a steady stream—slow, but still moving--until more of Ultron's version of the Iron Legion crawl out from under the city, from streams and rivers. It's creepy and reminiscent of a horror movie Kate can't quite place.

"Guys!" Banner's voice cuts through their self-imposed radio silence. "I've got Natasha!"

"Thank god," Clint breathes. Kate can picture how his grip will loosen and his hands will shake for exactly five seconds before he pulls himself back together for the job.

Their collective elation is short-lived as Ultron's voice echoes from every drone, every speaker in the city. 

 _"_ _Do you see?_ _"_ He says, sounding like a douchey second-year philosophy major. " _The_ _beauty of it, the inevitability. You rise, only to fall. You, Avengers, you are my meteor, my swift and terrible sword and the earth will crack with the weight of your failure. Purge me from your computers, turn my own flesh against me. It means nothing. When the dust settles, the only thing living in this world will be metal."_

"Is anyone else tired of hearing this guy talk?" Hulkling asks, just as Speed goes, "Wow, what a dick."

Cap and Hawkeye and Hulkling are standing on the side of the road when the pavement buckles and cracks, the city rising, great chunks of dirt falling off the side as they gain altitude. They stare at each other, not quite getting what's happening until a second wave descends on them, and all they have time for is beating robots back. 

An unfamiliar voice--pleasant and young—comes in over comms. "The Vibranium core has got a magnetic field, that's what's keeping the rock together."

"If it drops?" Tony asks—the voice must be his new JARVIS.

"Right now the impact would kill thousands. Once it gets high enough: Global extinction."

"Well that is absolutely not what I wanted to hear at all." Prodigy grits out. "Friday's right. The higher it gets, the worse the outcome. We need to stop this now."

Kate ducks as Steve's shield sails over her head, landing in one of Ultron's army. Hulkling grabs one by the legs and uses it as a bat, bowling over two more. Kate shoots three, blowing them up at the same time. 

"Cap, you got incoming!"

"Incoming already came in. Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed," he locks eyes with her in between shots. "Walk it off."

She can't help it, can't keep the grin from her face. This is what they do. The next few minutes are a blur of shooting and pulling people out of their cars, directing them to buildings that then have to be protected. They might not be winning, but they're pissing Ultron off. The ground keeps lurching and Kate embraces it, dropping to the ground to kick the legs out from under one of the drones, shoving an arrow into its eye socket.

" _You can't save them all._ " Ultron's voice echoes from his army. " _You'll_ _never--_ " 

The shield gets stuck in the robot's chest and Steve yanks it out, chucking him off of the bridge. "You'll never what? You didn't finish!" He shakes his head and offers Kate his hand. "I hate it when murderbots don't finish their thoughts."

In this moment Kate knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loves this man and also that this is the absolute worst time to have that revelation. Before she has a chance to really beat herself up over it, she hears the familiar whir of Mjolnir. A car lands behind them, followed by Thor. 

Steve snorts. "What, were you napping?"

“So it looks like the gang's all here," she points out. "A flying city is new for us. Thoughts from the guy who lives on a floating city in space?"

Thor opens his mouth to respond when another swarm of robots descends on them. They part for a moment to fight off a swarm of the mini-ultron-bots. Kate has a moment to worry if she brought enough EMP arrows before the edge of the city starts to crumble, cars full of screaming civilians lurching. Steve leaps at one just as it starts to go over, pulling it back on solid ground through sheer force of will—but there are cars _everywhere_ from people headed out of town and they haven't all been cleared, passengers too frozen by fear to move. 

A van starts to pitch into nothingness and it is instinct and nothing more that has Kate picking a cable arrow and shooting into the undercarriage of the vehicle. 

Instinct, not sense, because the van is full and Kate is but a single person, who immediately goes sliding towards the edge. She needs to let go, she _has_ to let go, her toes are touching nothing--but she can't—and suddenly, she doesn't have to. A hammer loops itself around the cable and Thor grabs Mjolnir's handle and _pulls_. 

The van comes flying over their heads.

"Wow. Impressive, Odins--" Kate starts, but she's standing too close to the edge and the ground shifts beneath her. 

It settles. "Whew. That's a relief," she grins at Thor, takes a step, and the ground falls away. She plummets through the air, arrows scattering, falling, just like her.

=*=

 _Okay, this looks bad_.

She should probably be screaming, right? She can hear someone screaming. A quick check informs Kate that she is screaming, so she's got that covered. Great.

She's still falling, and Steve's voice is in her ear, so she stops screaming so she can hear what he has to say. She doesn’t want the last thing she says to be a scream. That would be lame. And tragic.

The voices in her ear are frantic—Steve and Tony, Thor and Billy—but it's hard to focus with the wind whistling in her ear. The wind isn't screaming, because if it was she would have heard it earlier. She can be louder than some bitch-ass wind--

She is, upon further investigation, definitely panicking.

Kate closes her eyes. Her hand tightens around her bow, and she could use a rappelling arrow except they're all gone, all falling to the earth just like her. _It's not so bad_.

Gravity wraps its fingers around her, dragging and pulling and it's hard but she makes herself find words. "Steve," she says. "Steve, look, it's going to be okay, okay?"

A new sound approaches. She wonders if the ground will hurt, and decides there are worse ways to go than saving the world.

=*=

Her entire side is pain, from her shoulder to her shin, and she can't breathe. 

"Hey, how you doin', Hawkeye?"

"God?" Kate blinks several times before her eyes focus on the face in front of her nose. "Huh. Should have known you were actually an angel." She reaches over and boops his nose. "S'why you're so good at flying."

"I'm good at flying because I'm a pilot," the Falcon informs her. "Cap, I got her."

"Shit! Shit-fucking- _shit,"_ Steve swears, breathless. "Hawkeye? Kate?"

"You're sure I'm not dead?" Kate asks Sam, just to be sure.

"Positive, Hawkeye. Grow some wings next time, okay?" He flies them up, deeper into the city than she was before, dropping in through the roof of a house that is collapsing. 

Sam dumps her on the floor next to Clint and Wiccan.

"Good. You're not dead." Clint gives her a once-over and Kate grinds her fists against her thighs, forcing her fear back into a box. 

"Nice to see you alive, boss," Wiccan grins, taps her shoulder.

"I aim to please," she smiles. _Shove that box inside of another box. Pry up a floorboard. Stick the box in there._

"I'm so sorry, how could I let this happen? How could I let this happen?" Wanda clutches her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. 

Clint and Kate exchange _fuck-what-do-we-do_ glances. While they are at a loss for what to do, Wiccan shuffles over to Wanda, giving her a little shake.

"Hey, look at me. Look at me...Wanda. Maybe this is your fault, maybe it's everyone's fault. Right now, that's not important. The power we have, the power _you_ have—it's a lot, okay, I get it. And it's so much, and when we screw stuff up, it's so much bigger than when other people do. But we can fix it. We can fix things in ways most other people can't even dream about!" Wiccan glances back up at Clint and Kate, wordlessly asking for help that they aren't able to give. "Look. None of this makes sense, I get that, we're on a flying city fighting an army of robots, but I'm going back out there because it's my job. This is what I do."

"It's _our_ job," Clint chimes in. "And we can't do our jobs and babysit. Like the kid said. It doesn't matter what you did, or what you were.  Stay in here, you're good, I'll send your brother to come find you, but if you step out that door, if you go out there, you fight, and you fight to kill. It's the job, and today that means saving the world." Clint looks from Kate to Wiccan, to Wanda, staring at them all. "Alright, good chat."

He stands and looks out the hole in the wall. "Yeah, the city is flying. That's new."

"Hawkeye, I need more arrows," Kate says. 

"Ah, shit." Clint swings his quiver off of his back, rifling through them. "We're gonna have to hand-to-hand at this rate."

"Not a problem." Wiccan shoulders between them, grabbing a handful from Clint's quiver and glaring at them, a blue glow surrounding her hand. Faster than a blink, arrows fill his fist, overflowing and clattering down to the floor.

"Not going to lie, that was pretty cool."

Sam looks from the Hawkeyes to the arrows to Wiccan. "You guys are weird."

"Thanks," Clint says. "So now that we're all clear on Hawkeyes being unable to fly on their own, do we have a plan?" He turns to her. "Hawkeye?"

"Dude, I just fell off a flying city? Maybe give me a minute? Let Cap call it?"

“Did you just voluntarily offer to let me call the play? Jeez, must be the end of the world for real.” Steve is strained—Kate can almost picture the way he's clenching his jaw as he says this, trying so, so hard to be Hawkeye levels of casual about near-death experiences. 

“Now you jinxed the damn thing,” Kate chides, loading arrows into her quiver as a silver blur comes to a stop in front of Wanda. “I need to know where to send my guys, Cap. Call it.”

“Okay. Hawkeye, I want you with me. Stark, Wiccan, keep an eye on things from above. I want Speed on the ground, getting civilians out of the way. I want Hulkling in the air. Prodigy with Natasha. See if you can find something Stark missed.”

"Hawkeye and Speed and Wanda, keep civilians safe. Pietro with Prodigy and Tasha." Kate's hands are shaking and she forces her breath out through her nose. "Sounds good. Do we have a game plan for how to take this guy out yet?"

"Working on it," Stark bites out.

"And evacuation for the civilians still here?"

"Working on it," Prodigy answers Steve. "Keep your eyes peeled."

"All right. Let's go, people."

 Both Hawkeyes edge around the smoking hole in the wall, shooting four robots at the same time, the distinctive sound of tech frying around EMP arrows hissing into the air.

"Pietro," Kate extends her hand to the man, feeling a little like a turn-of-the-century lady. "Could I have a lift?"

He looks confused for a moment before breaking out into a grin. "Thought you'd never ask." He actually _presses a kiss_ to her hand before scooping her up. For the second time in less than twenty minutes, the world becomes a fast-moving blur around Kate. She _shoves_ that fear, that panic, down, stomps on the lid, sits on it, and manages to keep her shit together long enough for Pietro to stop moving and set her gently down.

“What?” Pietro says. She must be staring.

"You remind me of a guy I know," she snaps.

“Pretty sure I’d remember you. Remember, the original is always better.” Pietro winks at her before zipping off to David and Natasha.

“Did he just hit on me?” Kate feels a little nonplussed for a moment, before managing, “Speed, your uncle is your way-slicker doppelganger.” She shoots a robot fast approaching Steve from behind; he boomerangs his shield taking out a drone trying to flank them.

There are no visible civilians and no cars teetering on the edge of roads, but the farther in they go the thicker on the ground Ultron's forces. They gain a block and lose half of one, are forced to move in a circle rather than a straight line. 

Unable to fight their way through, they wind up cornered in a courtyard, surrounded by really ugly robots. Ultron might be grappling with human things like megalomania and nihilism but he clearly hasn't grasped the concept of being aesthetically pleasing. 

Kate's back is to Steve's, and even though this is awful, and the end of the world to boot, it's not...it's not _all_ bad. Kate hasn’t fought next to Steve like this since New York, not with death and destruction and potential global annihilation on the table. It’s better, this time. They fight better together, and they trust each other differently now.

"I have an idea," she says. 

"Is it a bad one?"

Ultron's drones are ten feet away and closing.

"Oh, you know it."

Eight feet.

"Do I need to do anything?"

"Make sure if your shield is touching them, you aren't touching it?"

Six feet.

Five.

The robots are close enough that they are shoulder to shoulder, which is what she was waiting for. Hawkeye fires an arrow at the nearest one, and the whole circle goes down in a fizzing, sizzling heap. 

"I have no idea how long that will last but--"

Kate doesn't get to finish her warning because Steve is in front of her _glowering_ like now is when he's going to get all uppity about her playing with electricity. 

Only that is, of course, not what is going on at all, something Kate really only gets when Steve is kissing her, frantic and desperate and so, so gentle, how his hands cup her face. 

"You _promised_ ," his voice is harsh when he pulls back. "Kate, goddamnit, you _promised_." His hand is tight on the back of her neck and that pressure is too much, this is too intimate—she can't do this now.

She takes a step back, and Steve doesn't try to stop her, his hand dropping to his side. He doesn’t look hurt, just closed. Just Cap.

"Stark? Prodigy? Are we any closer to finishing this? I'd like to go home."

"Well, we’ve got no great options," Tony starts.

"Maybe a way to blow up the city. That'll keep it from impacting the surface if you guys can get clear," David continues.

Steve goes rigid. "I asked for a solution, not an escape plan."

"Look," Prodigy sighs. "The impact radius is getting bigger every second. We're going to have to make a choice."

"Cap," Natasha cuts in. "These people are going nowhere. If Stark finds a way to blow this rock..."

"Not 'til everyone's safe."

"Everyone up here versus everyone down there?" Kate turns to Steve. "There's no math there, Cap."

_W_ _e could die today._

_I know._

_Are you ready?_

Steve stares at her, uncomprehending. "I'm not leaving this rock with one civilian on it." 

Natasha's laugh is gruff. "We didn't say we should leave. There's worse ways to go. Where else am I gonna get a view like this?" She sighs, the sound echoing over comms, and Steve turns to look at Kate. 

"No," he agrees, voice soft. "It's not too bad at all."

"Glad you like the view. It's about to get better." Nick's voice cuts through the severity of the moment, and even though Kate can't see it, she can hear the whirr of a helicarrier. "Nice, right? I pulled her out of mothballs with a couple of old friends. She's dusty, but she'll do."

Natasha laughs in delight.

Steve shakes his head. "Fury, you son of a bitch."

"Oh! You kiss Hawkeye with that mouth?"

"Whoa, since when does Rogers kiss Barton?" Tony asks, and Steve grins down at Kate. 

"I'll explain it to you later," Clint says. Kate can feel his smile through the comms, and finds a smile of her own.

=*=

She is still not entirely certain how this happened, how she and Steve went from fighting their way to the city center, to getting split up, to Ultron finding her.

It's just Ultron and her, standing outside a ransacked bakery as he backs her into a wall.

Kate’s labored breathing echoes in her ears, and nothing else. She can’t hear anyone else talking, or issuing commands. There’s only the distant sound of shooting and faint yells; the sound of buildings falling and rending metal.

She _hopes_ Ultron has only blocked her comms, because the other option is everyone being dead.

"What can I do for you?" She asks. "Did you want to watch _I, Robot_ together or something? You know one of the robot laws is that robots can't harm humans."

"I'm not a _robot."_ Ultron can't scowl, but there's definitely a scowl in his voice. "And I'm not here to banter with you."

"Oh, my bad. What are you here for?"

"To threaten you. Intimidate you, hopefully."

"Great, okay," Kate nods. "And you were going to do that...how, exactly?"

“I’ve seen her. Your friend?” Ultron tells her, the abrupt topic change tripping Kate up. “What was her name? Something with a C.”

“Good for you.” Realization drops hard and cold like lead in her stomach. 

“No, no. I mean I’ve _seen_ her. Footage of her, _live_ footage of her. That place that the twins came from, and…there’s a lot of information in the world. I can access it all. I could tell you where she is.”

His hand tightens against her throat, and breathing becomes just a little bit harder.

“That’s a good deal, isn’t it? I tell you about Cassie— _Cassie!_ That’s her name! About _Cassie_. Where she is. What they’ve trained her to do. Have you seen some of the videos? Your hacker is very good—well, he’s adequate, so perhaps you have. The ones where she gives you up! I think they’ll send her to kill you. But I can help.”

She fumbles at her utility belt, hoping for a spare Widow’s Bite. He catches her wrist and pins it to the wall behind her.

“I’m trying to have a civil conversation, and you’re being rude,” he chastises her. “I just wanted to tell you. That other teammate of yours. The one with the white hair—not the one running around, the one that’s missing. The alien.”

She doesn’t want to be interested. She wishes she wasn’t so obvious, because even Ultron can tell that this was the right thing to say, the one thing that could get her attention.

“I’m listening.” The words slip past her gritted teeth and the spindly metal fingers at her neck.

“I know where he is. He wasn’t being held by SHIELD, which is why you can’t find him anywhere. He’s out there. Locked away. One more person you couldn’t save, won’t be able to save, and—oh, look at that. I’ve hacked him. That’s exciting. I could help him, right now.”

“H-how?”

Kate can imagine, if everyone else can hear this conversation, they would be yelling at her to ignore Ultron.

She _should_ ignore him.

She doesn’t.

“I could thaw him. Disconnect his brain from the computer system they’ve got him hooked in to. Make him a free man. So to speak—cockroach? Really? Or I can program him to kill you. I think the second one is more fun, but the first one will make you feel better inside.”

“What could I possibly give you in exchange for that?”

“I need a human to help me. I’m not so good with interacting with your kind. I was really hoping that Wanda would, but—“

Kate’s free hand finally manages to work the EMP arrowhead out of the wall behind her, and she jams it into the side of his head, sending him twitching backwards

There’s a high pitched squeal over the comms and a crackle of static that leaves her pawing at her ear, as if that will alleviate the discomfort.

“Leave it to Stark to give birth to a pretentious douchebag murderbot,” she mutters.

“Hey!” Tony protests.

“Oh, _hey_ what, Stark, I’m surprised you weren’t yelling at me that whole time.”

“Wasn’t for lack of trying,” Prodigy informs her. “He had us all jammed up but we managed to circumvent all the weird crap he’s doing. Hawkeye, do you think he really—“

“Not now, Prodigy. He’s trying to bargain, which hopefully means he’s feeling a little desperate. Let’s end this.”

=*=

Tony flies by to help her escape her very own Ultron mini-bot death squad.

“You weren’t tempted,” even through the helmet, Tony’s voice is flat. “At all.”

He blasts a robot; she shoots one that’s launched itself on to his shoulder.

“No. I mean, first of all, terrorist robot. Second of all, _lying_ terrorist robot. And third,” Kate jerks her head at Prodigy, who has managed to hotwire a car and run over several unsuspecting metal men. “The fuck do I need robot intel for?”

She has the robot’s arm in her hand, kicking the thing’s neck repeatedly until eventually she kicks its head off.

“Wow,” Stark stares at the head sparking and fizzing at his feet. “How?”

“Reinforced boots,” she calls over to him. “I kick a lot of shit.”

“Yeah, Bird Lady, I see that.”

They pile into the car. Prodigy is not the best driver under good circumstances, which these are not, and he mostly just drives them right into the wall of the church that houses Ultron's city-levitating device.

"Late," Wiccan hollers as they join the fray.

"Fashionably!" Kate adds. 

=*=

“Do you think Ultron did it?” Steve says quietly at her shoulder. They’re covering the last few people being transported to the helicarrier. They are going to blow up an entire city, and the clock is ticking down for how quickly that's going to happen.

“I do.” Kate lets an arrow fly and has another ready to go before continuing. “I don’t know why he would, except to see if he could. Now at least we know someplace else to look for Noh,” she fires another shot, realizing she’s out of arrows just as another gang of Ultron’s army rounds on them. The last robot she shot is still jerking around, the arrow crackling in its neck.

Being out of arrows is never a good thing; fortunately, she’s got a sword strapped to her back as part of her quiver. Using it to slice clean through the neck of the thing approaching Steve—it’s about the most satisfying thing she can currently imagine.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Really?"

"What? Don't be jealous."

She spins in a smooth arc, cutting through the chest of one robot, moving to her knees to cut the legs out from under another as Steve flings his shield at another with enough force that it cuts down two more besides.

They're running out of time, the last civilians being loaded into the lifeboats, Avengers backing towards the edge of the city. War Machine is overhead, providing cover until a last—hopefully last—group of Ultron's legion make a final pass at the rescue.

The next part happens in slow motion:

Kate hears a child cry out. She sees Clint with the child in his arms—the kid isn't any older than Lila. This, for some reason, is the detail that sticks out in her mind.

Her body starts to move before her brain can process that they are being fired on, but she doesn't make it far. Steve pushes her shoulder down, his shield up over their heads like an umbrella.

She sees Clint, and the kid, and a blur of grey-green-silver.

Kate and Steve rush to Clint and the kid he grabbed, and Pietro lying in a heap next to him, looking stunned.

_Silver. Grey._

Looking at a man shot through with shrapnel.

_Green._

Looking at Speed.

There’s a sound, a cry of some sort, tearing through the air, and Kate is vaguely aware that it’s coming from her mouth. She sees her hands press at all the spots of red appearing all over Speed’s suit, hears her voice yell “ _Get me a medic!”_

She can hear Prodigy’s voice in her ear, asking her what’s wrong, that Speed’s vitals have dropped because of course David is keeping tabs on them, it’s what they do—

Her arms are shaking from exhaustion but she’ll keep the pressure on until she’s dead.

Someone lands next to her and there’s a familiar voice saying things that might be medical. Words aren't making a lot of sense anymore.

“Hawkeye,” Sam’s voice is low and calm. “Can you keep pressing down? You got this. Talk to him, keep him focused.”

“Speed?” She might yell it, she can’t control her voice. Speed’s eyes roll towards hers, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Don’t you dare. You’re not getting rid of us that easily, asshole. You don’t get to do this to us. Speed? Stay with me, Speed! _Tommy!_ ”  

"We gotta move him but we have to move them together," Sam says from about a million miles away. "I don't want to take pressure off of him--" he keeps talking but Kate is focused on Wanda now, Wanda crying out in pain, in _anguish_ _._

Is anyone else listening to Wanda? Wanda, talking to Ultron, isn't anyone paying attention?

 _"They took them. The memories of them, Hydra took my babies from me. And I had forgotten that, until just now. What it was like to hold my children. And do you know what you did?"_ There is the sound of metal rending. _"You took one of my beautiful babies from me. I remember holding him,_ " Wanda's voice breaks. " _Singing to him. And you_ took _him. This is how it feels to die."_

"This might not be the best time but he's _not fucking dead yet!_ " Kate shouts.

"Right, Hawkeye, we're gonna move you, don't freak out, okay?" War Machine's faceplate flips up. Colonel Rhodes looks calm and his nonthreatening gestures are only slightly undermined by the fact that's he's encased in metal. Colonel Rhodes is a very calming person, Kate thinks, slightly hysterically, still from a million miles away.

"All right, get that over here!" Sam waves someone over. "Okay. One, two, three--"

There are hands on Tommy and hands on her; Steve and Rhodes and Sam and Clint, lifting them onto a makeshift stretcher.

"Guys? Time to go!" Stark says.

And Kate pulls back from her edges, focuses only on Tommy and his blood seeping through her fingers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how many golems have you made, Billy???? How many???  
> would Kate actually scream as she fell thousands of feet? I mean part of me thinks no but part of me is also slightly realistic and every single one of us would be screaming if that happened to us so there you go


	8. Call Them Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Sokovia, there's some things to deal with.  
> Lots of things.  
> So many of the things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah we're fine, everything's fine here. Actual conversations about relationships happen. Also, there's a very out-of-focus sex scene that happens, just so you're aware. This is probably the first big deviation as far as structure--this chapter incorporates stuff that previously happened in a separate chapter so if something looks familiar, you are correct. Well done.

“He’s going to be all right,” Dr. Cho’s voice is low as she speaks to Kate and Billy.

“He’s in a coma,” Billy snaps. “How is that all right?”

“He’s alive.” She remains calm even in the light of an angry magical being. “We don’t know why he’s in the coma, to be honest. There’s no medical reason for it. It could be that his mind simply needs a vacation, and he’ll come out of it at any time.”

“Great,” Billy runs his hands through his hair, causing the whole mess of it to stick out in crazy directions. “Just great.”

Dr. Cho looks at him with a fair amount of sympathy. “Mr. Kaplan, I realize this isn’t the news you want, but his prognosis is good.”

Dr. Cho nods to the two of them, going back into the room where Tommy lays, pale hair, pale skin, hooked up to IVs and monitors and—

It’s her Hawkeye-fast reflexes that have Kate catching Billy under his arms as he collapses.

“Hey, hey, Billy,” she hauls him into a hug, because it’s easier to keep him upright. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay.”

His weight lifts off of her and she sees Teddy’s shaggy blonde hair over Billy’s shoulder. “Bad news?” he says under his breath.

Kate shakes her head. “Could be worse.”

Unfortunately, they are all intimately familiar with _it could be worse, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t plenty bad_.

"Hey, why don't you go sit with him?" Kate nudges Billy to the chair next to Tommy's bed. "And I can go tell the team what's up?"

Billy nods. "Yeah, okay, that's—that's a good idea."

Teddy still has an arm around Billy. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No. I think I'd like a minute or two alone."

"Sounds good."

=*=

Tony Stark having a superhero training compound mostly up-and-running should probably be a lot less surprising than it is. 

The fact that Tony—doesn't corner her, exactly, but edges her away from the group—to tell her, red-faced, that he can give her rooms next to Cap's, or they can share, if they want, you know, none of my business but whatever—that should probably be _more_ surprising than it actually is. He's always been observant, though. He just doesn't always care enough to figure out what he's observed means.

It's hours before what Tony told her matters, anyway—hours at Tommy's bedside, hours of softly beeping machines as Billy listens to her. Or, more likely, as Teddy listens to her and makes sure Billy eats and showers and gets some rest. 

But now it's later, and Tommy is surrounded by Billy and Wanda and Pietro—by family. Kate meanders down the halls, letting her feet take her where they may, until she's leaning against a door with only the vaguest recollection of how she got there. She knocks once, twice, and that's it. She has nothing left to give. All of her energy has gone to being strong and steady for the past few hours and rapping on the door was the last of it. With a sigh, she sinks to the floor. Nobody can say she didn't have a good run, saving the world and making out with supersoldiers.

The door opens on a towering presence. 

"Hawkeye?" Alarm colors Steve's voice as he crouches next to her, peeling back an eyelid. "Kate, this is—you haven't changed since we got back?"

She bats Steve's hand away and looks down to find that she is, indeed, still wearing her tactical jumpsuit, crusted in blood and dirt. She probably doesn't smell stellar, either. How long have they been back?

"Where were you?" He asks, his voice gentle.

"Medical. I wasn't going to leave Tommy alone."

"Right. Should have realized that." Steve's hands are warm on her, and for some reason this warmth, and realizing she's _not_ warm, kickstarts part of her brain.

She looks down at herself and sighs. "I'm disgusting right now."

"Well, you're not _great,"_ Steve hedges, hoisting her up, half carrying her through the doorway. "And here I thought you were just avoiding me."

"Why would I be avoiding you?"

"Because I outed us to both of our teams."

"Ah." Kate stops walking because wow, _hard_ , and Steve swings her up in his arms for the rest of the trip. "Well, to be fair, we both thought I was going to die a horrific death. You know what's amazing?" She rambles on, "is that I can say those words without thinking about what they actually mean."

"Well, that makes one of us." Steve sits her in the bathroom and starts running water. Kate closes her eyes and leans against his back, her whole body moving with him as he shifts, grabbing soap, checking the water temperature. It's soothing to feel his muscles work.

He's so gentle with her it makes her ache. There is tenderness in the way he helps peel her out of her jumpsuit, the way he helps clean the blood and grime from her hair, his finger massaging her scalp. For the first time since Ultron reared his ugly head, Kate allows herself to check out. Steve can handle things.

Kate is barely even on autopilot as Steve bandages the cuts and scrapes large enough for it, as he helps her into a baggy pair of basketball shorts and a shirt too new to be soft. He makes her eat food she can't taste and drink water and sets her in a soft bed with soft sheets and that is when she begins to shake. 

This is a safe place. Steve is safe. And so Kate finds the box that she shoved all of her fear into, the one that is rattling her from the inside out, and opens it. 

Terror sweeps over her. It's all she can do to keep breathing when she can feel the wind rushing past her and the simple, sure knowledge that she is going to die. She shoves her fist against her mouth to muffle the scream building. Her skin, her limbs, are all numb, and not feeling anything feels like falling did—maybe she's still falling--

But Steve is here. Steve, pulling her close to his warmth and his solid chest, too real for her to believe she's still falling. 

"I was so _scared_ ," she hears herself saying, tasting her own tears. "I thought I was going to _die_."

"I know, I know." Steve strokes her hair, her forehead, her back. "I thought—I thought I'd lost you, I thought you were gone--"

She's not the only one crying, the only one shaking. Too real. Steve being afraid is _too real_ , not like her fear that can be laughed off. 

It's some time later, when her fear is mostly gone and she's a little less empty, that she starts taking inventory of Steve. She strokes along his arms, his chest, his shoulders, checking for injuries. She should have done this sooner, should have worried about him. Enough time has passed that his bruises are a fading, sickly yellow and all of his scrapes and gashes are scabs. Enough for her to fuss over, so she does. It feels good, to have her skin against his, for Steve to lean into her hands. 

And this shifts, becomes less about discovery and more about comfort. Touches become longer, more languid, skin bared to one another. Long and slow and gentle until her body remembers what it means to feel.

Rougher, faster, then, anything to feel the blood in her veins and Steve's heart pounding against hers, not dead, not yet. 

She and Steve lie, tangled in each other, panting, for eternity. His skin is hot and sticky next to hers. Real. Alive.

Kate knows she will have nightmares, but when she wakes up, Steve will be here. 

For tonight, it's enough.

In her dreams, she falls. When she reaches the ground, Bucky is there, one arm a bloody stump. "It's okay," Kate tells him, believing it fully. "We're not really lost. We'll find our way home."

=*=

She's spent the evening sitting with Tommy and talking to Eli, filling him in on what's going on. She hadn't been able to talk him down and so he'll be heading here as she and the team head back to Sokovia to get involved with rebuilding and cleanup. She's missing something with Eli, and she's so involved in trying to figure out _what_ that she doesn't realize there's something off about her and Steve's apartment.

Kate flicks on the lights to their quarters and is met with darkness, the only light red from the setting sun in a thin line from around the curtains.

Immediately on alert, she edges into the room, keeping her back to the wall. She shuffles along until she bumps into something hard and cold and nearly screams when metal tubes wrap around her wrist. 

"Easy, Hawkeye, it's me."

"Jesus _Christ_ , Bucky!" Kate half-screams through her teeth. "How many times do we have to go over the do-not-creep thing? Why are my lights out?"

"I didn't want to get caught," he sounds chagrined. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Kate's head thunks against the wall as her heart stops racing. "Yeah. I know. Okay."

"I heard about what happened," he says. "I'm sorry, doll." He folds her into his arms and every part of her that she's managed to keep together splits wide open. 

He makes shushing noises and rocks her back and forth. "It's okay," he assures her. "It's okay."

Kate closes her eyes and she can feel the earth vanish from below her feet, can feel the all-encompassing certainty that this is it, this is the end--

Bucky's cool hand cradles her skull. She can't help it. She feels _safe_ with him. It doesn't matter how deadly she knows he is, how dangerous he is. He is solid, and real, and here. If she lays her head against his chest, she can hear his heartbeat. Listening to people's heartbeats is a totally normal thing, there's nothing weird or overtly intimate about it. 

Except that there _is_ something over-familiar about this, about the way Bucky's hand threads through her hair and the way she grips the back of his shirt in her fist.

"Kate?" Steve calls, and Kate kicks herself for not shutting the door. The light switch clicks as Steve flicks is up and down, and when he says her name again, it has a hard edge of suspicion. "Kate? Everything all right?"

Kate stiffens. 

Steve's steps are slow and measured as he inches into their quarters. His shield appears before he does and Kate disentangles herself from Bucky. 

"Steve, I'm here. Don't shoot." She walks towards him, hands up and nonthreatening. 

She gets close enough to see the wariness in his eyes. "Steve, it's okay. Please put down your gun." She puts her hand on his elbow, pushing on him. 

"You wanna tell me why the power is out in here?"

"Because somebody wanted the security to be down," she admits with a sigh.

"Heya, Stevie." Bucky steps into what little light there is, hands up.

Steve moves to aim his gun but Kate’s grip on his arm keeps his aim low. “Put it down, Steve.”

She can see Bucky’s nervous swallow from across the room. “I'm not here to hurt anyone.”

A muscle starts to twitch in Steve’s jaw.

He keeps the shield up.

Kate sighs. “Gun.”

“What?” Steve glances at her, startled.

“Give me your gun.”

He hesitates before handing it to her. There is so much naked trust in his eyes and it's so _intimate_. Kate goes hot all over and swallows hard before she can get out her next request. “And the one at your ankle.”

Steve obliges and she strides over to Bucky. “Gun.”

He raises an eyebrow at her before handing it to her, no doubt debating making some smartass remark.

“And the other one.”

He hands it over.

“No knifing each other while I’m gone,” she warns, retreating into their kitchen and shoving them in the fridge. “Ugh. Guns. Hate guns.”

"Are you okay?" Steve's eyes dart to her, then back to Bucky. "Did he hurt you?"

"Bucky's not going to hurt me."

"And if I tried, she knows how to take me out," Bucky offers in what is clearly meant to be helpful. It is, in a way. 

"How did you get past the security?" Steve lowers his shield incrementally. "Did Kate let you in?"

Kate leans on the bar that separates their kitchen from the living and dining areas. "How _did_ you get past security?"

Bucky stares at them. "Do you really want to know?"

"It's a security oversight that needs to be fixed," Steve snaps.

"But if it's fixed I can't come back that way."

Steve stares at Bucky. And stares. And _sta_ \--

"Sorry," says Steve. " _What_?"

Kate has _the greatest_ line on the tip of her tongue when a gust of wind rattles the windows and she jumps like a skittish cat, pretty much drawing all of the tension out of the room and into her being. The scabs on her knuckles tear as she grips the counter, reminding herself that she's not falling. 

"Hey," Steve is at her side, hand on her shoulder. "You're fine. You're fine, Kate."

"Yeah," she breathes, shaking herself mentally. 

Bucky hovers just out of reach, looking from her to Steve, confusion furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?"

"I fell off a flying city, didn't you know?" She forces out a laugh. 

"I missed that part," he admits, reaching out, metal fingers tap-tap-tapping down her arm to her knuckles.

"I'm _fine_ ," she snaps, yanking her hands back from the counter, shoving them under her armpits. The concern of Steve _and_ Bucky is overwhelming and she's choking on it. 

"Why are you lying?" Bucky asks guilelessly. 

"Can we get some light in here?"

"No," Kate answers Steve, sinking to the floor, leaning against the cabinets. "Lights mean power means cameras."

"Oh." Steve sits on the floor next to her, legs crossed. Denim pulls over his knee and she reaches out, rubbing the rough material. Steve's warmth bleeds through. His warmth always bleeds through everything. 

"Are we sitting on the floor for a reason?" Bucky asks, sitting on the floor, mimicking Steve's pose. 

"Sometimes we sit on the floor," Steve says. "So you're not here to kill us?" He asks like he's just making sure.

Bucky sighs, sliding back so he can stretch his legs out in front of him. "No."

He winces as he stretches, and that's enough to pull Kate out of her mild freakout. "What happened?"

"What?" Both men ask.

"Your leg," Kate reaches out. Right leg. Above the knee. "What happened? Did you get shot, or did you break it?"

He hesitates. "I broke it two weeks ago."

Kate bites back her anger at _that_. At people, _her_ people, her boys, being hurt. Is she getting more possessive as she gets older? She leans back until her head hits the cabinet. She's going to have to keep an eye on that tendency. 

They sit in silence and the dark. Later—Kate doesn't know how much later—Steve shifts forward, putting a hand on Bucky's left leg. Kate is exhausted but feels a faint thrill, like Steve has closed a circuit. As if pulled in by Steve's touch, Bucky leans forward. Given half a second more, they'd collide—the way they're looking at one another--

Kate's hand tightens on Steve's knee, wondering what would happen if they kissed. What she would do. If one of them would want her to leave. If both of them would. If--

She doesn't get to find out. Steve jerks out of his reverie, his hand dropping to cover hers, giving her fingers a squeeze as if to say _don't worry, I'm here for_ you. His touch breaks her out of her circular thoughts, chasing one another around and around in her head.

"We're going to need to turn the power on." Kate hates that she says it, but it's true. Somebody will notice a power outage and the longer it goes on, the more suspicious it looks.

"Guess I should head out, then." Bucky sounds like this is roughly the last thing he wants to do.

"No!" 

Kate and Bucky both turn to Steve, surprised at his outburst.

"I mean, no. You should stay. Get some food, and sleep," Steve continues, squeezing her hand so hard Kate can feel bones grate together. 

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Yes. Yes, you should stay," Kate stumbles over the words, flipping her hand in Steve's and squeezing back, partially to get him to loosen his grip and partially to let him know that they're probably on the same page.

Hopefully.

She's not sure what _book_ they're in, but the same page of it, yes, right. The page that says _Bucky Barnes is important and deserves nice things._

While a still slightly bewildered Bucky tells Steve how to get their power back on, Kate rummages in her quiver for her Wall-E figurine, setting it on the coffee table just before the lights come back on.

"It's a baffler," Kate says to Bucky's raised eyebrow. "David made a bunch of them after DC. This is my travel version. Nothing's going to pick us up. Or you up." 

The weight of the day hits Kate like a ton of bricks. Every day since Ultron has been too long and not long enough, the stress building behind her eyes. 

With a sigh, she shoves the heel of her hand against her forehead, hoping pressure will make the headache go away. 

It doesn't. "I'm going to go lay down," she informs the supersoldiers standing at odds in her living room. "You two—maybe talk?"

"What? No, you don't have to go," Steve reaches for her, catching her wrist and lacing their fingers together. Deliberate. A choice. 

"It's fine," she shrugs. "You guys have a lot to catch up on, I'm sure. And," her voice catches in her throat, the weight of everything bearing down on her for a second. "I'm really tired. It's fine."

"Okay," Steve sounds doubtful. 

"And you," Kate clears her throat, trying to pull herself together as she pokes Bucky's chest. "no running off into the witching hour. You're here, you may as well sleep here and get some food, and _say goodbye_ before running off."

Bucky, at least, has the grace to look chagrined before he nods.

=*=

It might be minutes or hours after Kate has finally fallen asleep when large, warm hands sneak under her body and pull her towards the edge of the bed. She must stir, or make some sort of noise, because Steve is immediately apologetic. "Sorry, sugar, we just need more room--"

She becomes dimly aware of a conversation happening, then Steve sliding in behind her, one of his arms draped over her side, and then more shifting as, presumably, Bucky gets in to bed behind Steve. 

She's half-asleep, Bucky and Steve still having a conversation in low tones when she realizes something that jerks her back awake. 

"He can still escape like this," she mutters, crawling over Steve, nearly taking a header into Bucky's metal shoulder before she winds up on his other side. "Scoot," she demands, poking him in the ribs. 

"Are you--," Bucky begins, then, " _What_?"

"Yeah, none of this leaving without saying goodbye bullshit again," she mutters. "Right, Steve?"

"I have no idea what's going on," Steve says. "But sure. Yes. No leaving without saying goodbye first."

"Outvoted," she mumbles. "You've been outvoted." Push, shove, scoot, finally Bucky is in the middle of the mattress and Kate is no longer in danger of falling off of it. She tucks herself against his left side, and after a moment, Steve curls up on Bucky's right. Bucky is tense under her, under them. She lets her breath out in a big gust, throwing her leg over Bucky's thigh and stretching her arm across him, her fingers brushing against Steve's chest. 

"What," Bucky says with the air of a man who knows he won't get an answer. "Is _happening_?"

"I believe this is what the future-people call _cuddling,_ Buck."

"You know what, punk?"

Kate can feel as much as hear movement happening on Bucky's other side, making her smile until Steve's knee whacks her shin. 

"Ow! Watch it, Rogers."

" _Jesus_. Settle down, you two," Bucky chides, but his arm curls more securely around her, giving a contented sigh. She thinks he pulls Steve closer, too. Kate hides her smile against Bucky and Steve presses a kiss to her fingertips.

Yeah.

The superhero thing isn't all bad.

=*=

The next morning tests that mindset. Bucky is skulking around, gathering his things. Kate and Steve are shoving food into his pack, scraping together what cash they have. Kate isn't sure if it's just her who feels like there's something important they're not talking about, or if they're actually...not talking about something important.

"As glad as I am to see you," Kate says while shoving protein bars into the pockets of Bucky's jacket. "And as much as I want to see you again, a lot, we really need to know how you got in."

"It's okay," Bucky assures them. "I'll only come to your rooms."

"I think what Kate is trying to say is that a lapse in security that lets you in is terrifying, considering what just happened with Ultron."

"I'm good at what I do," Bucky says, shoulders creeping towards his ears in indignation.

"We're not arguing that," she starts.

"Fine," Steve snaps. "If someone else breaks in here, we're holding you personally responsible."

"And what are you gonna do to me, huh, punk?"

" _Boys_ ," Kate snaps. Steve and Bucky are about a foot away from one another, looking for all the world like they want to throw down. She's not sure the furniture in here can take that. "Maybe the pissing contest can wait until next time?"

The tension lasts all of one second before Bucky's glare dissolves into a tentative grin and Steve claps him on the shoulder. 

“Take care you yourself,” Kate murmurs in Bucky’s ear before retrieving the guns from the refrigerator.

“Take care of each other,” is his response, pulling Kate and Steve into a bone-crushing hug. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“How can we?” Steve shoots back. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

Kate's half out the door to do something she shouldn't with a fusebox so that Bucky can have an invisible exit, when she turns. Just in time to see Steve pull Bucky in for a kiss.

It is slow, and sweet, and it feels like the world tilts on its axis. It's not a vague hypothetical situation now. It's real. Steve and Bucky—there's something there, and she can't--

What if they just want each other? She can't stand in the way of that.

Kate walks down the hallway in a daze. What if she's just a placeholder?

That's not fair.

But what if she is?

Of course she's not.

But.

The tiredness she feels now has nothing to do with physical exhaustion and everything to do with the soul-deep weariness that is sinking into her bones.

=*=

 _"_ Hey." Steve flops down on the couch next to Kate.

“Hey.” She leans into his side, waiting. Waiting for him to say something about what just happened, or about last night. She waits, and the silence feels endless. 

It suffocates her.

Steve doesn't say anything.

She pushes off of the couch, pacing the small lounge area. 

“We’ll try and crack down on the two-team story again." Steve finally says. "Stark called, said some news outlets have footage of some of you."

“Thank you.” She should already know this. She shouldn't be getting this information from Steve, or even Tony.  “I know we can’t hide forever. It was just easier when there was someone keeping our secrets for us, you know?”

“Nothing says you have to stay in the shadows,” he points out. 

Maybe he's right. The reasons they were a secret aren't there any more—but even as she thinks this, a whisper in the back of her head, soft and smelling like charcoal, reminds her that they are just a small part of a larger secret. 

"Maybe that's what we should do," Steve continues. "Recruit you. Officially, I mean. To the Avengers."

As much as this is what she, what the team, has secretly wanted for years, hearing Steve say the words doesn't make her feel any better. On the contrary, it has her hackles up, shoulders creeping to her ears and a fight itching along her palms. _You would have always been separate,_ Nick told her once. _You would have always been secret. To do what they couldn't or_ _wouldn't._ “And what happens when someone doesn’t want to let your team in? What happens when your cover is blown because you were nearby and someone heard eagles screaming in the distance?”

“Do eagles scream?”

“They do when you’re nearby,” Clint calls from the ceiling before muttering _shit_ , since _disregarding privacy_ is apparently still the order of the week.

Kate rolls her eyes.

"Hey, Barton?"

A pause. 

"Yes, Cap?"

"Don’t you and Romanov have a very pregnant wife who probably wants you home?"

"Just wanted to make sure everything was settled here, Cap. And that we wouldn't be shot if we tried to leave."

"Everything is fine, Clint. Go home," Kate tells him. "Give Laura our love."

There is silence, then the sound of shuffling that fades down the length of the room. 

"Don't forget to send pictures when he's born!" Kate hollers before settling back on the couch.

"So, are any of the guys going to stay and train?" Steve asks.

"I don't know. Billy will stay here as long as Tommy is here, but I don't know that he wants to train with you guys. He and Wanda should probably work together...and if he's here, there's a bigger chance of Teddy staying." The words taste bitter for some reason she can't figure out. 

"Well, I definitely want you working with Wanda on her hand-to-hand combat skills. Hopefully she won't ever need them, but better be prepared, right? If Teddy stays, I want him and Sam and Rhodey doing flight drills...." Steve trails off. "What?"

"What what?"

"Your face. It's—you're making a face."

"My face isn't doing anything, Steven."

"It's doing that thing where you're gazing into the middle distance thinking about how to kill people. And you just called me Steven."

Kate takes stock of her face and tries to get a handle on what she's feeling.

"I don't--" she starts, still grasping. "I don't want to promise my team's presence. I mean, I don't even know if _I'm_ staying."

Steve's face falls. "Oh. I just assumed you would."

"Well, I don't know, okay?" Kate shoves off of the couch again and resumes pacing. "It doesn't matter what the news says, or what you or I say. We're not the Avengers. We're not _your_ team."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, I get that it's just semantics to you, it's just a name--"

"No," he interrupts. Steve never interrupts, and the fact that he's doing so now is enough to shut her up. "You're afraid that if they train here, they won't be your team. You don't want to relinquish command."

" _What_."

"I'm not judging you," Steve puts his hands up. "I just want to know if that's what's actually bothering you."

Kate opens and shuts her mouth a few times, swallowing hard as she searches for words. "We've worked together for years," she finally starts. "Years, Steve, okay? And—and—you don't just get to take that from me." 

Steve's eyes widen as his face goes blank with shock. "I'm not trying to take anything from you--"

"That's not what you just said."

"I said we should train together. So if something like this happens again, we know who works best together, and there's no questioning who's in charge."

"Which is you, I take it? Since you're Captain America and everything?"

"I don't want your team!"

"Why not? They're a good team. You _should_ want them."

"Okay." Steve tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. "Okay. What the _hell_ is going on here? I'm confused, and clearly there's no right thing for me to say."

"You want to bring my team into the Avengers fold. That's what's going on. I've lost two members of my team!" Kate shouts. "Clearly, I can't lead them!" She freezes, shoulders creeping towards her ears as Steve snaps back upright, pinning her with a look. Kate's hand scrabbles for a chair that she pulls out and collapses into. 

"Where did that come from?" Steve asks from a distance. 

"Wow," Kate says, mostly to herself. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. That's. Wow. Projecting much?" She tries to laugh, almost manages it. She feels numb and is dimly aware of Steve sitting across from her at the round table, his legs stretched out and encroaching on her space.

"So," Steve starts, lets the word hang in the air. "You wanna talk about this?"

"Absolutely not." Her mouth is suddenly dry. "I just. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe you should take over. I'm—I just—god, I _suck_ at this." The realization smacks her in the face. "We thought Cassie was dead, but she's not, she's a brainwashed assassin. Tommy is in a coma. Eli left. America is god knows where. Noh wasn't exactly part of the team and then betrayed us because he didn't trust us to help him, and Loki tried to conquer the world. Oh my god. I am terrible at this."

The truth of it sinks in. She really is—she's got no business leading a team like this. Fucking hubris, is what this is. What is _wrong_ with her? She works with a future god, a space prince, a speedster, and a man who knows _everything_ , and she thought she could lead them? Why did she think that? Kate squeezes her eyes shut, and that's a mistake—her brain throws up the memory of falling through the sky against her eyelids, like a private film showing. 

Kate rises, feeling like she's shaking from the inside out. 

Falling.

Metal fingers around her throat.

Who does she think she is, anyway?

=*=

Kate avoids Steve the next day, spends the night in Clint and Natasha's empty quarters. Hopefully they're all doing all right, having a wonderful family time with Nick and Laura and the kids.

Steve texts her, tries to call her. She ignores him. She's already fucking up her life, why not go all in? Maybe she's being stupid, but she doesn't know any other way to be right now. Her hands won't stop shaking. When she closes her eyes, she can feel Tommy's chest under her fingers, blood saturating his suit. When she closes her eyes, she can feel the wind rushing past her. 

Everyone was scared. Everyone thought they were going to die. 

So she swallows it down. She puts a smile on, because that's what her team needs.

 _H_ _er_ team, like she's done any good for them. Her team, standing at the end of the room opposite Wanda and Sam, Pietro and Rhodey. Steve.

He doesn't try to catch her eye, and part of her is grateful for that, and part of her is _pissed_. He's not even trying? Whatever. Fuck everything.

“This is gonna _suck_ ,” David mutters.

“Well, we’ve done it before,” Kate points out, getting her head back in the game because she’s supposed to. She is the Leader, and she is supposed to be a Positive Force. For however long she's got left, she'll do the job.

It's been two days since Sokovia, and it's time to go back.

“Yeah,” Billy interjects. “And it _sucked_.”

“We know how to work without one another,” Kate continues as if she hasn’t heard any of them. “So we can, and we will, until Tommy heals. And then makes fun of us for being overly sentimental.”

“This is sentimental?” she hears Rhodey mutter.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving him alone,” David adds.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Steve butts in.

Kate holds up her hand; thankfully, the bickering falls silent.

“I’m staying with him,” Wanda finally joins the conversation, her voice soft but strong. “I will look after him.”

Beside her, Pietro shifts his weight from foot to foot. Kate wonders if he’s like Tommy, if standing still for long periods of time makes him feel like his skin is trying to crawl off.

She keeps seeing Pietro out of the corner of her eye, a shock of white hair, a blur of motion, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, she’ll think he’s Tommy, that the past forty-eight hours have been nothing but a bad dream.

“That’s lovely, and all,” David says, “and no offense, lady, but we don’t know you.”

“If one of us stays, that puts us two down,” Teddy steps between David and Wanda, blocking their line of sight. “We can’t do that right now.”

“If anybody stays, it should be me,” Billy tucks his hands under his arms, as if to keep from doing some inadvertent magic. “And Teddy’s right. We can’t be two men down, and we can’t call in Patriot on such short notice, he’s got an actual job now.”

“Hang on, just a second,” Steve steps past her and into the middle of their loose circle. “Where exactly are you planning on going right now?”

Billy stares at Steve for what is probably about a minute before turning his gaze to Kate.

“Is he joking?”

Kate shakes her head. “Probably not.” Steve turns to look at her, _finally_ , and Stark turns to look at her as well, Rhodes raising his eyebrows at her.

“Cleanup,” she says after a beat. “There’s a small Eastern European country that’s been devastated by a robo-terrorist, they could probably use some help with, you know. Rebuilding.”

Tony Stark gapes at her.

“Well, look, clearly you weren’t planning on doing it so don’t act all offended.” The air kicks on, the rush of air rattling a vent and Kate half jumps out of her skin.

“We’re used to cleaning up your messes anyway,” David adds, drawing attention away from her. “We did it after Loki.”

“Yeah, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Teddy finally moves back to Billy’s side. “How the Avengers really like saving the world but don’t like cleaning up after themselves.”

Steve has the grace to look chagrined; Rhodey looks thoughtful.

“I can’t believe you thought of that before me,” Stark says, looking at them with what might be newfound respect.

“David’s right, we’re kind of used to cleaning up your messes,” Kate says with a shrug. “But if you want to start funneling money, be our guest.”

"Funneling money where?" Stark asks.

"The Lang Foundation," Billy says when it becomes apparent Kate isn't going to say anything.

 _Lang?_ she sees Tony mouth.

Kate can feel another headache building behind her eyes and all she wants is a cool dark room to lay down in for about five years. “So let’s say be ready to go in twenty hours? David, you and Stark set up surveillance so we can keep an eye on Tommy. Cap, if you want to come with, that might be a good idea, get your face out there, helping, but you can give it a little longer—”

“I want to help,” Wanda interrupts. “I should help.”

“And I appreciate that,” Kate turns to the other woman. “But I’m not so sure you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, chewing on it for a moment. “So here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go over there, and in no more than twenty-four hours, Steve is going to get in touch with my personal assistant and ask to help us. And he’s going to bring you.” Kate squints at Wanda. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that should work.”

“Since when do you have a personal assistant?” Billy says out of the corner of his mouth.

“It’s Darcy,” she mutters back.

“Your team,” Pietro finally speaks up. “You’re used to having someone fast.”

“We are."

“Someone like me.”

She stares at him. She has a feeling where he might be going with this but doesn't quite dare hope.

“I have an idea,” Pietro’s voice sounds too tentative, too raw, to command attention, but he manages to anyway.

“What is it?” Wanda’s eyes bore into his, her hands twisting around each other.

“It’s not a _good_ idea,” Pietro adds. “It’s just an idea.”

“Spit it out,” Kate waves her hand as if she can coax the words from him. "Almost all of our ideas aren't good ideas but they manage to work anyway."

“Well, you aren’t known, as a team,” he hedges. “If we could—well, I could take his place, on your team.”

Kate can _feel_ Billy’s indignation swelling like a balloon and holds her hand up to forestall his words.

“And perhaps with your team—a team that seems to operate more in the shadows—perhaps I could find out more about who I am—who we are,” he gestures to Wanda. “And what Hydra planned for us.”

“You want to start digging, we’ll help,” Kate nods to her team. “But we'll help you regardless. You don't have to—to join up, or whatever, because you feel obligated."

"I don't feel obligated."

"Right." Kate lets out her breath. "Here's the thing. If we do this—and I'm not saying we should—you'd have to _be_ Tommy. At least in public. Pietro Maximoff would have to die."

Every head in the room swivels to her. 

"I'll bite," Stark says. "Why?"

"Check the news. Pietro and Wanda are all over it. Sure, the footage from Sokovia itself is incredibly corrupt and incomplete, but they're there. And if Pietro Maximoff suddenly starts hanging out with me and my friends..." She trails off. "It looks weird. Maybe even suspicious. And I don't want suspicious anywhere near us."

"You did not just think of all that just now," Stark accuses her. 

Kate stares right back. "What is it you think I do, exactly?"

"Shoot stuff?"

Indignation bubbles up in her as she reaches for words. Before she can grasp them, David cuts in. "She also blows stuff up. Look, Billy's got the juice to make you look like Tommy, but Tommy isn't exactly a model citizen."

"What do you mean?" Pietro looks from David to Kate.

"Tommy—well, Tommy is a felon." Kate presses her lips together. "A lot of his stuff was expunged courtesy of SHIELD but there's some weird stuff on his file--"

"Wait," Billy steps forward now, brow furrowed. "What's still on his file?"

"David, would you care to do the honors?" Kate waves him forward as David pulls up whatever it is he pulls up on his tablet. 

"Let's see. A couple of misdemeanors—one for selling margarine as butter in Iowa, one for mispronouncing Arkansas while in Arkansas. Oh! Forgot about this one. He wore a sleeveless shirt in a Maryland park and hasn't paid his fine. There's a warrant out for his arrest in Mississippi, because he swore in front of five people."

"So," Steve cuts in. "Bullshit charges?"

Kate turns to David, gesturing as she says, "What about the--"

"Sanctioned."

"So technically not--"

"Right." His fingers tap across the screen and he hums to himself before looking up at the silent group. "I was done."

"And what was..." Pietro trails off, copies the motion Kate made to David.

"David, what's the euphemism I want?"

He doesn't even have to look at her. "Wetwork."

"Right. Wetwork." Unfortunately, _wetwork_ doesn't appear to illuminate the matter to Pietro, even though Tony and Steve get what that means. "So. Okay. Tommy has never killed anybody--"

"This is good to know!" Pietro interrupts, smiling.

"That he was not sanctioned to kill by the US government," she finishes. All eyes are on her, staring, disbelieving, appalled. "We all had a complicated relationship with SHIELD. Tommy also happened to have a complicated relationship with the CIA."

More silence ensues. Kate claps her hands. "Okay! Great. So now that you're _not_ going to be Tommy--"

"I never said that. Did I say that?" Pietro looks from her to Wanda, pulling his sister to the side to converse in rapid-fire Sokovian. The twins seem to reach some sort of agreement and Pietro steps forward, hand outstretched. "I accept."

Kate does not take his hand. "What?"

"I accept. I will... _become_ Tommy, so that I can learn about why Wanda and I were chosen, and so that he can have a new beginning. Yes?"

Kate is still staring at him when David walks up next to her, using his grip on her elbow to slap her palm against Pietro's.

"Great," David says for her. "Let's get you briefed."

=*=

"David's crying."

"What? What did you do?" Kate rounds on Sam. "I will _not_ hesitate to kick your ass, I don't care if you saved my life--"

"What did _I_ do? What did _you_ do? He's crying because of you and it's up to you to fix it." Sam pokes her hard in the shoulder. "So fix it."

" _Fix_ it? How can I fix it if I don't even know what's wrong?"

"Let's see," Sam starts ticking point off on his fingers. "Acting distant. Not paying attention. Refusing to talk to him—you're going to break up."

Kate blinks.

Tilts her head.

"Okay," she says. " _What_?"

"You know what," Sam says, punctuating each word with another jab to her shoulder. 

"David and I aren't dating. Just. FYI."

"The _team_ ," Sam says, sounding for all the world like he thinks she's the stupidest person he's ever encountered. Maybe she is. "Breaking up with the _team_. You think he doesn't see it? Maybe Billy and Teddy are too preoccupied by Tommy, but David knows. And I've been authorized by my boyfriend's tears to tell you to stop being a dumbass."

Kate opens her mouth to lay a scathing verbal smackdown on _this fucking guy_ before his words actually register and she shuts her mouth with a snap. Her mind goes into hard reset, rebooting so that her top instinct finally starts working: protect the team. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. Not just from others, but from themselves, too. 

"Should I assume there's an intervention being staged somewhere for me?"

"Dude, I don't know," Sam shrugs. "They're your friends."

She bristles. Sam is a nice guy, but everything about him right now is rubbing her the wrong way, from the attitude to his delivery to the fact that he's _blaming_ her for—for _hurting her friends_ or something is just fucking offensive.

Maybe on a good day she'd let this go.

This hasn't been a good day for...like, a week.

"Where do you even get off, coming at me like this, Wilson? I mean, really. You aren't part of my team. You don't know why I'm doing things. Maybe I'm doing stuff to protect them--"

"Stuff like being a dumbass?"

"Oh my God. Screw you. I'm trying to protect them, okay? That's my number one priority. I'm not very good at it, but I'm trying. I'm trying to do the right thing!"

"And you think the right thing is letting them go off on their own, without a leader?"

"No." Kate reels back a bit. "What? No. They'll go hang out with the Avengers--"

Sam interrupts her by bursting into laughter. "Right. Okay. You really think that's what's going to happen? Maybe we need to get your head checked again, make sure you don't have a concussion."

"You _fucking_ asshole--"

"No, Hawkeye, you listen to me _right now_." Sam pulls himself up to his full height and puts on an expression that reminds Kate that you don't screw with military guys unless you _want_ some broken bones. "You guys are a team. They feel safe with you, and you take care of them. I know you're comparing yourselves to the Avengers, but you can't do that. How long have they been a team? How long have you guys been a team? You need each other." He reaches out a tentative hand, slowly setting it on her shoulder. Squeezing. "Right now, you're coming from a place of fear and trauma, and I know it's not fair to ask you to push past it right now, but you have to."

Kate stares. Glares. Frowns. Her face does something that feels a little like her expression melts off.

"Trauma," Sam reminds her, "is my job."

=*=

The intervention is in the lounge area off of medical. Tommy's room is visible from the doorway. 

That's her fault. Tommy is her fault. 

Isn't he?

"Okay," Kate takes a deep breath, rubbing her hands together. She's here with her friends, not with her teammates, and it's okay to be open and honest with them. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. "I've been informed by a third party that I've been kind of, maybe, acting like a jerk."

"Well, you did just almost die. That always does a number on your attitude for like, a week. Which is totally understandable! But like. Expected." Billy tugs at his hair as he says all of this.

"A week?" Kate sits down with a thump. How had she missed this about herself? "Really?"

"Yeah." Billy swings his arm over her shoulder, where it hovers in the air before settling over her, pulling her close. "Not like it hasn't happened before."

Teddy throws himself down on Kate's other side, squeezing in close so that she's smushed between people she's more than willing to die for. "So, are you gonna talk, or do we have to get David in here and dogpile you?"

"No," she forces a laugh. "No dogpile."

Teddy stares at her. Eyes narrow.

"Maybe dogpile?" She says hesitantly.

David wedges himself between Kate and Billy, half on both of them. "So what dumb things are you thinking?"

"Dude!" Billy shoves at him, sounding so much like Tommy it hurts. "You can't just—we have to get her to talk!"

"Yeah, but I spend five days a week on average with her. I know she thinks dumb things. She just doesn't usually act on them."

"Hey, guys. You know I'm here, right? Maybe you could stop talking about me like I'm not here?"

"Are you here, though?" David pins her with a look. "I'm not sure if you are."

Kate takes a second to find what she wants to say, a moment to tuck her Steve-and-Bucky worries away. Her personal problems aren't important right now. They can wait.

"I'm worried," she says carefully. "That I'm not—that I'm not the best leader."

"Because of Tommy?" Teddy probes.

"Because of what Tommy said, about me not doing enough to find Cassie. Because of What happened to Tommy. Because of what apparently happened with Noh. Because Eli left."

There is silence that Billy breaks. "Kate did you—do you—believe in us? Respect us?"

"Yeah. Of course, how can you even ask--"

"Then you need to stop blaming yourself, and give us the dignity of making our own choices. We're fighting for what we believe in. We know the risks. We always have."

"Wow. Okay. Fair." Kate presses back against the couch. "Wait, did you—read that from your phone?"

"No." Billy's reply is too fast. "Maybe. It's still true."

"No, I'm not arguing that--"

"Captain America texted me," the words rush out of Billy. "How does he have my number, Kate? How does he know these things?"

And somehow, even though she thinks she should probably be mad about the whole thing, a tiny little bit of the ice-cold dread she's felt all week chips away.

=*=

"Okay. Final checks. Passports?"

Everyone holds their passports up.

"Cash?"

There's some awkward shuffling as the guys dig out their wallets. 

"I've got ten bucks," Billy says. 

"Fifty," Teddy chimes in.

"Fifty cents," David adds, while next to him Pietro just holds up empty hands and shrugs. "I don't have anything."

"It's okay," David assures him. "Kate just likes to get all deep-sigh about how none of us are prepared."

"I do not!"

"It's okay, Momma Warbucks. It's one of your more loveable qualities."

Kate stares at him, slackjawed. "Am I _not_ supposed to be insulted by that?"

"Please, sir," David says in what is a truly terrible accent, holding his hand out. "I want some more."

Kate narrows her eyes at him before pulling her roll of cash out of her purse. "Screw you, Prodigy."

Just for that, David gets his petty cash last.

"This is--" Pietro thumbs through his stack, then thumbs through it again. "This is a lot, yes?"

"It's pretty typical, actually," David mutters. "You never know what's going to happen or who you might need to bribe or whatever. And if an infrastructure's down? Yeah, two grand is pretty typical."

Pietro stares at her, which Kate studiously ignores. "Remember, if we convince them to have a oh-we've-repaired-things-let's-have-a-party-to-boost-the-economy party we get our clothes from local designers or tailors. That worked out really well when we did It in Madripoor."

"Hey, can we invoke the no-signature-color rule again? I think it might be a good idea," Teddy says, looking pointedly at Kate.

"Excuse me, Altman?"

"Bitch, pick another color!" Billy. Billy, of all people, says. Kate must look pretty aghast, because he follows it up with, "Look, Tommy can't say it right now, so somebody had to."

"Bold words for a man who went through a glitter-goth phase."

"They are Tommy's words!"

Kate cocks her head at Billy. "And if he'd said that to me, I would have countered with 'bold words for a man who went through a glitter grunge phase' so..." She looks at them, meeting each man's eyes. "No more potshots? Nobody else wants to get burned? Great. David, allergy pills?"

"Check."

"Billy, cords and chargers?"

"Aye, aye."

"Teddy--"

"Two weeks worth of New York Times crossword puzzles." He holds up the stack. "Stolen from Tony Stark."

"Swell. Pietro—neck pillows?"

"I...found two?" He holds them up, one shaped like a dragon and the other covered in a disturbingly lifelike hamburger print.

"Amazing! And I am, apparently, still Tommy's emergency medical contact, so we'll be able to stay updated on him. We're good to go."

"Why is that surprising to you?" David looks perplexed. "You're my emergency medical contact."

"You and Billy are mine," Teddy adds. 

"Okay," Kate breathes through her nose, feeling like everything is just slightly surreal. "Just so I'm aware. Am I _all_ of your emergency contacts?"

Billy shits uneasily. "Well. Yeah."

" _Why_."

"Because you're our _leader_ ," Billy says as if she is literally the dumbest person on the planet. Which, well, clearly she is at this point. "We trust you."

"Oh. Well, that's good to know."

"Who's yours?"

Kate shifts on her feet. "Uh. Natasha." 

"Right." Teddy shoulders a few bags, prompting the rest of them to do the same. "Because the odds of Clint being injured _with_ you are high."

"Exactly."

"Who else?" Billy falls in step with her as they make their way to the cars. "You used to have like five."

Kate coughs. "Uh. Rogers."

Billy doesn't even lose a step. "Oh my god. He's fucking _Steve_. Don't act like you two are casual professional acquaintances after he flipped his lid when you fell off of Sokovia."

"I fell off of a flying city! It was a big deal!"

 _This_ pulls Billy up. "You fall off of things you shouldn't fall off of at least once a month." He jabs his finger at her. "David showed us your _how many days since our last accident_ counter."

Kate keeps walking. "That's because David is a traitor who is no longer in my will."

"You have a _will_?"

Kate stops. "You _don't_?"

Billy starts walking again. "Don't try to distract me. Wait, are you two fighting or something? Is that why he's been all mopey?"

Kate is frozen before she jogs to catch up with him. "What are you talking about? He hasn't been mopey."

The guys exchange glances. "Uh, okay," Teddy finally says. "Sure, boss. Whatever you say."

>>>\---->

Sokovia cleanup goes better than expected. Two and a half weeks of hard physical labor that leaves her exhausted. Two weeks of playing the part of the heiress, two weeks of pretending not to know Steve, and hating it and being relieved by it in equal measures.

It's the press, crowding in the hotel, and even in front of them Steve pushes it. _How are you today, Miss Bishop? Anything I can help you with, Miss Bishop?_

Thirty minutes of being back in the States before Steve takes her to the side, asks her quietly if she'd like to go with him to see Baby Barton. 

Four hours of stilted silence in the car before Kate can't take it any more, leaning forward in the passenger seat and fiddling with the volume dial on the radio, flicking it off, then on, then off, then on.

She sighs. 

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?" Steve finally asks.

"I saw you and Bucky," she blurts out. May as well go all in. 

"What? We haven't seen Bucky in weeks."

"When you—before he left. When you were kissing."

"Oh." Steve turns red, from his cheeks to his ears around the back of his neck. "I didn't—it didn't—I mean--"

"I guess I was waiting for you to tell me," she interrupts his non-sentences. "But then you never did. And I couldn't figure out why, and I didn't want to ask you, but now it's clear that you're _not_ going to tell me. And don't say that it didn't mean anything, because we both know that's not true. Just—you know what? Don't say anything. I know, and now you know that I know."

She flicks the radio on again and stares out of the window until they reach a place Kate has never had to be someone other than exactly who she is. 

Before they reach a place that's home.

=*=

Natasha nudges Kate's shoulder with her own. "Any word on Banner?"

Kate shakes her head. "Nothing. I think," she pauses, lining up the words. "I don't think we're going to look for him. I don't _want_ to, I still feel— _we_ still feel responsible for him—but we aren't. And the guy deserves some space. If something happens with him, we'll help deal, but," she shrugs. "We've got other things to deal with."

"How are the...other things going"?

"They're going. We're coming up with a plan."

"What's going on with you and Steve?" Natasha passes Kate a mug full of fresh coffee to soften her words. "There's—distance."

Kate's eyes itch. "Some things just happened before we went to go do cleanup. I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't want to talk about it with me, or you don't want to talk about it with him?" Natasha presses. "You're both miserable, and if the only reason you're both miserable is because you're being stupid, then I'm going to lock you out of the house tonight."

"You can't do that."

" _Watch_ me," Tasha snaps. She strides out of the room, full of righteous indignation, returning with Clint, who is holding baby Nate. "Barton, talk to your better half."

"Whoa, what? When did Kate and I—oh," he trails off. "Work wife. Right."

"I thought Natasha was your work wife," Steve says, crowding Clint in the doorway.

"Natasha is _your_ work wife," the Natasha in question informs him. "Honestly. How many years has it been now, Steve? You always forget our anniversary."

"We don't _have_ an anniversary, we're _not actually married_ ," Steve insists. 

Tasha ignores him. "No wonder Kate is all upset, if you can't remember anniversaries--"

"Kate and I are--"

"September fifth," Clint blurts out. "That's Kate and I's anniversary."

"No, oh my _god,_ Clint, it's the _third_."

"I was unconscious the third through the fourth. It's not the anniversary unless we both remember it."

"Great! Now that's settled," Natasha puts her arm around Clint's shoulders and shoves him gently towards Kate. It's easier not to fight it at this point, and Kate just sighs and opens the door to the porch.

Clint bounces his son in his arms, making faces at the baby. He doesn't even have the decency to _look_ at Kate when he asks, "So, what's going in with you and the boyfriend?"

"He's ninety, it feels weird to call him my boyfriend," Kate insists, though Clint's silence declares his complete lack of belief. "And, I mean, is he? We've gone on like. Five dates in total."

"Well, you're both busy people. I don't think the problem is how many dates you've gone on," Clint continues. "Steve still seems to think the two of you are--whatever label you aren't using. I don't know why he thinks he fucked up, but he still thinks the two of you are still a thing, so take that how you will."

Kate squares her shoulders. He can tell Clint this, for God's sake, he's _her_ _Cl_ _int_ _._ "So, a day or so after we got back from Sokovia, Bucky came to check on me--"

"Wait, wait. Bucky who?"

"Bucky Barnes. We're friends."

"Bucky _Barnes_? How did he find you?"

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and bites. "Because I gave him my address. Not the one for the compound, he figured that one out himself, I guess."

Clint gives her Resting Bitchface: Are You Fucking Kidding Me Edition.

"He's not—he's not some mindless killer, Clint. He remembers stuff, he—he—we're friends," she finishes lamely. 

"Friends? How can you be friends with--" Clint breaks himself off, looking down and the bundle of baby in his arms. "Never mind."

"I care about both of them, and they care about each other. And I can't get between him and Steve, I just—I've seen the way they look at each other. But I don't want to lose them. _Either_ of them."

Clint bounces the baby in his arms, cooing at him. After Nate settles, he glares at Kate. " _Friends_? You and Barnes are friends, just friends?"

"Well, we got...close. To one another. Emotionally," she elaborates, as Clint's eyebrows climb ever-higher. "And we got close to having sex."

"Close? How close is close? Are we talking clothes off, hands down pants, what?"

"Ugh! Ew! I do not want to talk about this with you, Clint! No, not that kind of close." 

"Sweetheart," Clint says. His voice lacks inflection to such a degree it almost becomes inflection.

Kate tears her eyes away from baby Nate. "Yes, dear?"

"You have _met_ me, right? Me and my two wives and my husband?"

Kate stares at him, vacant, until what he says kicks in. "That's different."

"Different how?"

"Clint, I can't just walk up to them and say, hey let's give polyamory a try."

"Why not?"

"They're vintage supersoldiers, Clint! I don't want to scandalize them!"

Clint stares at her. "You have _met_ Steve, right? You know how hard he is to scandalize?"

"That doesn't mean he's not into monogamy!"

"Right. Well. You should still talk to him. You can't just not talk to him for forever. I could feel your nervous energy before you even got out of the car." He wilts a little under Kate's glare. "Okay, Natasha felt it."

They sit in uneasy silence before Clint tries again. "Look, you know how we all got together?"

She stares blankly at him. "You almost died?"

"No. Well, yes. But we _talked_. Okay," he admits when she doesn't buy it. "Laura talked. To Natasha, and then to me. And she saw how important Nick was to Natasha, so then she talked to Natasha again, then Fury, then me, then all of us together. My point is, we didn't magically whoosh into being. It took work, and talking. You know how much I hate talking, but--" he strokes a finger over his son's head. "But it was worth it."

"You've built a good life for yourself, Clint."

"Not just me. But it was _built_. It took effort. You stop to think that's why he didn't talk to you about kissing Bucky? Because he was afraid, too?"

Kate stares at him. "You lied to me!"

"I didn't lie. I omitted my knowledge of certain facts in order to get you to talk. I'm a _spy_ , Kate," he sighs in exasperation. "Come on. Also, I think Steve told me because he wanted me to beat him up. He feels bad about it but he doesn't know what to do. You're kind of intimidating, Katie-Kate. Don't know if you've noticed."

"Oh." Kate sinks into the porch swing. "Thanks?"

"You're welcome, Hawkeye," he tells her. "You know the thing about us Hawkeyes. We don't run from what scares them. Even when we probably should."

=*=

Baby Nathaniel finally wakes up and Clint goes in, leaving Kate staring out at the rolling hills of home as the sun sets until Steve comes out, hesitating for a moment before sitting next to her. 

"So," he says. "How was your lecture?"

"Illuminating. Yours?"

"Terrifying. But it's Natasha, so...she means well. I'm sorry," he says in a rush. "I just didn't know how to tell you, or if it meant anything. Those are terrible excuses, I know." He puts his hand over hers and look in her eyes, open and earnest. "I'm sorry, Kate."

"Okay." Her voice is faint, even to her own ears. "I accept your apology. But where does that leave us?"

"You tell me."

"I can't tell you! I don't know what's going on inside your head! Maybe I understand where you're coming from, maybe I don't—I can't ask you to choose, Steve. Don't make me do that."

"Choose?" Steve looks bewildered. "Choose what?"

"Between me and Bucky! I'm not going to make you do that, Steve. Neither of you should have to do that, but I can't be okay with that right now. I want to be happy about it but I just—I can't be okay with losing you, and I'm sorry."

" _Losing_ me?" Steve looks utterly bewildered. "To—to _Bucky_? Kate, what are you talking about? The kissing thing maybe wasn't great, and neither was keeping it from you. Kate," he tugs her wrists gently, pulling her in front of him. "I wouldn't drop anyone like that, much less you. Not to mention I think Bucky would gut me if I hurt you--"

"He would not. He loves you, Steve."

"He's shot me before, and I'd heal fine. He'd do it."

"Steve--"

"No, Kate, shut up for a second, okay? I'm not going to drop you when he comes back in my life to stay. I don't know what to do but," he looks frustrated all of the sudden, jerking his hand through his hair. "But that's not it."

"Steve. You love him, though, and I can't stand in your way just because I'm selfish."

"Maybe _I'm_ selfish. Maybe I want you to be selfish. Maybe I don't want to choose." Almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Steve blushes, looking mortified at his own human weakness. "I mean—shit, Kate, sorry, that was--"

"Would you? Want to try that?" She can't speak, can't put the words together fast enough or well enough but she has to try before they both lose whatever courage or foolhardiness they've managed to scrounge up. "Both of us, do you think? Do you think Bucky would want...?"

"You mean—this?" Steve waves his hand behind him, at the Barton home, swallowing so hard Kate can see his Adam's apple bob. "You'd be willing to try?"

"With you. With you and Bucky, yeah, I'd want that."

"You're sure?" Steve is cautious and wary, now. "You're not just saying that—not just agreeing to it because it's what I want?"

"What _you_ want?" Kate chokes back a hysterical laugh. "Are you sure you're not just saying that because It's what _I_ want?" Saying it out loud makes her acknowledge the truth of it, the hope that she'd kept tamped down in the back of her mind, that maybe, somehow, this could happen.

Steve pulls her into his arms, quick as a flash, and the tensions they've carried between them evaporates as Steve chuckles into her hair. "We're already terrible at this."

"What are you talking about? We're _awesome_ at it, and we're going to get better."

>>>\---->

"Hey," Steve smiles at her. "Can you keep a secret?"

They are back at the Avengers compound. Kate and Steve are back to sharing rooms. They're training their teammates, and Kate is working with Sam on how to better parse out her trauma-induced anxiety and her more garden-variety anxiety. In short, they are currently awesome at being people. Unfortunately, the look Steve is wearing says that he's ready to upset that balance. It reminds her of Loki, for some reason. Pre-murderous Loki.

Kate rolls her eyes. "Steve, I'm a spy, sort of. Of course I can keep a secret."

They're relaxing in one of the common areas. Half-empty cans of soda, old magazines, and a few newspapers are scattered across various surfaces, and on the coffee table in front of Kate and Steve rests Mjolnir. Thor is getting ready to head out, so he'll probably wander in looking for it in a few minutes--

Steve reaches out and picks up Thor's hammer, flipping it and catching it easily.

"Holy shit."

"Don't tell."

"Holy _shit_."

"I don't want to rule Asgard."

"Oh my god, Steve." Kate can only stare as Steve sets the hammer back down on the stack of Forbes Magazines. "So when the hammer wiggled at the party--"

"I didn't want it to be weird," Steve shrugs. "It doesn't matter anyway, right?"

Clearly none of the Avengers actually get what it means to be _worthy_. It's not just ruling, it's a whole thing with purity and selflessness and bravery and _what._ "You're ridiculous," she says, sounding stupidly affectionate.

"I don't want things to be weird! I just thought you'd like to know."

"I do like knowing," she insists. "I like knowing very much." Kate kisses Steve's jaw as he sits back and she settles back against his side until Thor comes in to say goodbye, looking suspiciously at Mjolnir. 

"This is not where I set--"

"I kicked the coffee table," Kate says, and Thor doesn't buy it, but he'll pretend. For now, at least.

>>>\---->

"So," Kate stands, puts her palms flat on the table, and eyes her boys and Pietro. "Who wants to go on a road trip?"

"I do!" Pietro raises his hand.

"Oh, dude." The rest of the boys look....collectively embarrassed for him. 

"You don't just volunteer," David explains. "You have no idea what a road trip actually entails. Probably something not fun."

"Oh. I reverse volunteer."

"Great. Thank you." Kate rolls her eyes. "That's a good call, though. I'm headed to California--"

A collective _ooh_.

"--to get in contact with Scott Lang."

The room deflates.

"He still won't pick up the phone?" Billy asks. 

Kate shakes her head. "And we're out of time. He _needs_ to know, and if I have to bust down his door to do it, I have to bust down his door to do it."

"I feel like I should stay with Tommy," Billy murmurs. 

"I know." Kate rubs his back. "I expected that. I can ask...someone else, but I'd rather it be us. The team."

"It's Cap. Just say Cap," Billy says. "It's like, not a secret anymore. At all."

Kate opens her mouth and finds she has nothing to say. "Right. Moving on. Who's going with me? Anyone?"

"I could go," Pietro offers again, more hesitantly this time. "But you don't want strangers?"

"No, that's a good idea," Teddy speaks up. "You and me and Hawkeye, we'll go. Give you a chance to get to know the team better." He grabs Billy's hand. "Give you a chance to get to know your birth mom?"

"Great. Good. Tomorrow morning, eight AM sharp, all right?"

>>>\----->

"Teddy, _why are we here_?" 

"We needed gas. We were running on fumes, and I don't want to be the one to destroy your car."

"Well, thanks, I guess."

"What's wrong with this place?" Pietro cranes his head around to look at Kate, sprawled out in the back seat. "It seems nice. Small, but nice."

"It's Baker's Glen." Kate fumbles for a water bottle, her mouth dry from the stale air of the car. "It's...not a great place for us."

"For _us_ the two of you, or _us_ the team?" Pietro stares. "If it's the team, shouldn't I know? Since I'm on the team? Right?"

Kate throws herself back in the seat and whacks her head on the door handle, which is about right. "It's not a good story."

"Yeah, I got that."

Baker's Glen. The beginning of the end. 

There hadn't been much of a town to flatten—a library, a town hall, three churches—Baptist, Methodist, Lutheran--and a synagogue, a handful of stores and a vet, a gas station, a diner, a Dollar Tree. 

Less town meant less places to find cover.

Even all these years later, with secrets spilled and unburied, she still doesn't know why they were brought in as the containment team for Blonsky. It wasn't their thing, not then. They were intel and recon, occasionally retrieval. Never containment. 

But they were there. _She_ was there. She saw Blonsky go apeshit, saw him fling a tanker at the library. Sometimes, she swears she can feel the heat of it, taste the smoke and pulverized brick thick on her tongue. It's not a taste you forget.

It had started off okay, and Kate remembers the _feeling_ of it—a quaint small town, laughing at something stupid Eli had said, a crappy motel on the edge of town. It felt like an old photograph, yellow-tinged colors on heavy, textured paper—idyllic.

It hadn't lasted long. Eli had gotten a sour batch of _his_ juice, and Cassie's suit had malfunctioned, Billy had been on leave. It had been a clusterfuck from top to bottom, and people had died because of it. That had been when Eli started doubting Patriot, when SHIELD started _watching_ them. 

Screams. She can still hear the screams. When she closes her eyes she can almost feel the Abomination's thick hand on her ankle, snapping her through the air before sending her sailing down Main Street. He'd torn everything up in that knee, she had to be off of it for months. Has the scars to prove it.

Baker's Glen has rebuilt. There's a memorial outside the library and the water tower has been rebuilt, and the gas station is a Conoco instead of a BP. The scars SHIELD left are almost invisible. SHIELD is good at that. They always have been.

"Hey." Pietro interrupts her increasingly panicked musings, awkwardly patting her shoulder. "You okay?"

"We shouldn't be here," Kate says, pushing the words past the panic. " _I_ shouldn't be here."

"Maybe this is good, yeah? For you. We should get food, while we're here. Yeah? Food." He links his arm through hers as Teddy fills the car up. "C'mon Hawkeye. This will be good for you."

He's not wrong, is the surprising thing. Whenever she pictures Baker's Glen, it's a place dead and dying. This place is alive. 

Maybe the Baker's Glen she fears only exists in her head, now. A place frozen in time

>>>\---->

"This is where Lang's been spending his time?" Teddy looks up and up at the house. "Am I the only one who has a bad feeling about this?"

"No. Bad feeling over here, too," Kate nods in agreement. 

"You want I should run the perimeter?"

"You know what? Yeah. Do that."

Pietro is gone in a breeze. 

"We need to come up with a name for him," she muses. "Okay. Moment of truth. Let's do it." Kate does not move. 

"Hawk. It's going to be all right." Teddy claps a hand to her shoulder. "It's going to be fine."

Pietro reappears. "There are a lot of ants here. Is that normal in California?"

"I do not like _that_ shit at all," Teddy says what Kate is thinking. 

Kate takes the steps with a growing feeling of dread, and raps on the door before she has a chance to second guess herself.

=*=

“Hi, sorry to bother you." Kate offers one of her most winning smiles. "Is Scott Lang in?"

A woman glares at them. "Who's asking?"

"Old...friends?" Kate turns to Teddy, who nods. "Yeah, let's go with friends."

The woman's eyes catch on Pietro, staring, and Kate not-so-subtly steps between the two of them. "Scott?" She reminds the woman.

"Yeah, sure." The woman steps aside. "How did you know to come here? This isn't his official address. At least, it shouldn't be."

"I'm a PI," Kate informs her. "It's my job to find people."

"And why are you looking for Scott?" The woman comes to an abrupt halt in a large, airy living room. Scott Lang is there, deep in conversation with someone, someone Kate recognizes and hates. A low squawk exits Kate's mouth and she can't even feel embarrassed about it, her entire body is vibrating with _what the fuck_.

"This is my father," the woman waves her hand at the older man. "He was shot this week, so--"

"You _asshole_ ," Kate snaps, shoving past the woman, past Scott, waving her finger in Hank Pym's face. “You–you. What, one Lang wasn’t good enough for you? Both of them have to die in the Ant-man suit?”

“Whoa, Kate, what are you talking about?” Teddy pulls her back. 

“What-Kate, what are you doing here? How do you know Hank?” Scott rises to meet her, but Kate is too busy glaring at Hank. The sheer gall of the man. The _audacity_. 

“Trying to get two Langs to die in that suit? Well, hell no, Hank. I’m not going to let you do that.”

"Okay, crazy," the woman grabs Kate's arm. "I think you need to leave." It's instinct for Kate to try and throw the woman off, twisting her wrist that results in a small scuffle.

That breaks a coffee table, so maybe not so small. 

"Jesus, okay, _Kate_ ," Scott stammers. "What the _hell_ , dude, was my ignoring you not enough of a hint? I'm trying to do better with my life!"

"Breaking into the Avengers compound is part of that plan?"

Scott stares at her. "What--how did you--?"

" _Hi I'm Scott_? I was really hoping Sam misheard that. _I can't believe this_. You're an _ass_ , Pym."

Hank stares at her, then shakes his head with a sigh, turning to Scott. “Cassie. Is your daughter named for someone, Scott?”

“My sister. We named her after my little sister, Cassie. She died when aliens attacked New York. She wouldn't even have _been_ there except Bishop here was having a fashion emergency.”

Pietro laughs, a short thing. "That is terrible code."

Scott stares. "Hey, weren't you in Sokovia? What do you mean, code? What's going on..." He trails off, blinking owlishly at Kate. “What do you mean, both of them die in the Ant-man suit?” His eyes dart to Hank, then back to Kate.

“I thought he knew,” Hank shakes his head. “I honestly did.”

“Knew what? Kate, what the hell’s going on here?”

 “Sit down. This isn’t…shit." She expected to have part of this conversation with Scott, just not all of it. Hank fucking Pym. Shit. "Okay. So you know how Cassie…had a problem.”

“She was dying so she stole stuff. I was there.” Scott crosses his arms and leans back in a floral overstuffed chair. After a moment's hesitation, Teddy takes a seat on the couch and Kate follows suit. The entire house feels old, well-lived in. Not quite as magical as Cassie had described it, but, well, she'd been young then.

“One of the things she stole was the Ant-man suit.”

Scott stares. And stares. "Bullshit."

“I admired her tenacity,” Hank interjects. “Bold as brass. That's why I thought you took the job. I thought you were trying to honor her memory.”

Scott looks like he's been punched in the gut. "I don't understand. What are you saying?"

“Cassie used the suit. To fight bad guys. For SHIELD.”

“Wait,” Scott interrupts. “I thought you hated SHIELD.”

“Wait,” Hope interrupts. “That’s who that blonde girl was? You were - she got to use the suit? Her?”

“Regardless,” Kate speaks over both of them. “Cassie. Codename Stature–”

“Shit.” Scott buries his head in his hands. “Are you telling me that Young Avengers crap is real?”

Teddy groans so Kate doesn't have to.

"Well, technically," Pietro says, because he hasn't been indoctrinated with loathing for the moniker. "Yes? These are good cookies."

Sure enough, Pietro has a plate of cookies in his lap.

"Wait," says the woman. "How did you--"

"Not important," Kate interrupts. "Like, at all. Let's get back to Pyms farming Langs for Pym-particle nonsense."

"Honestly, Hawkeye," Hank says. "I thought he knew."

"But you didn't ask."

"I imagined it would be a sensitive subject."

"Here," Pietro presses a cookie into Scott's limp hand. "You look like you are going to be sick."

Scott stares at them, absently munching on the cookie. "Is this what you've been trying to call me about for the past year?"

"Uh. No."

"Look, Scott," Teddy starts. "There's no easy way to say this."

"No easy way to say what?" Scott looks from person to person, frantic. "She's already _dead_ , what else could you say?"

Teddy looks to Kate, waiting for her to take the lead. She was always the closest to the Langs, she was always the closest to _all_ of them. _I'm everyone's emergency contact,_ she thinks with a touch of hysteria. 

"Scott," she says, looking him right in the eye. "Cassie is alive."

"I'm sorry," he says. "What?"

"Cassie's alive," Teddy repeats, but Scott is still staring at Kate. 

"Okay." Scott blinks a few times. "I think I know what happened. The Pym particles are making me hallucinate. Okay. Sure."

"That is absolutely not true," Hank points out. "Scott, you are not hallucinating."

Kate says his name with more care this time. "Scott. Cassie is alive. We don't know where she is. We don't know...a lot, actually."

"So she didn't die in New York—or did she? What _actually_ happened in New York?" He grabs Kate by the wrists and squeezes, hard. "Tell me _everything_."

Kate takes a deep breath. "Cassie was a SHIELD agent from the time she was fourteen."

"She'd been training with the Ant-Man suit from the time she was thirteen," Hank adds. "She broke in, stole the suit—well, you know what that's like."

"When she was _thirteen_?" Scott ruffles his own hair, a look of bewilderment slapped across his face. "Oh man. Oh, _man_. That's when I was doing my last stint in juvie, oh man I should have been there for her--"

"You were a kid yourself," Teddy points out. "Cassie knew how hard it was for you, trying to take care of her. She wanted to help."

"By breaking and entering?"

"Well, you did lead by example." Kate presses her fingers to her forehead and sighs. "Scott, we were on a team together--"

"Like the Avengers," Hank interjects, and Kate bites back her scathing retort.

"--and she died in the Battle of New York, fighting alien invaders. Or, we thought she died. The Hydra part of SHIELD took her body and brought her back to life. They brainwashed her. You know the Winter Soldier that was all over the news?"

"Yeah. That's Bucky Barnes, right? I thought I recognized him."

"You're right. They brainwashed him so that he would be a mindless assassin for Hydra, and that's what they did to Cassie."

Scott looks lost, almost fragile. "They brainwashed her?"

"Yes. And they still have her. But we're going to get her back, I promise." Kate hesitates before putting her hand on Scott's shoulder, unsure how to soften her words. "If she sees you, she might not know you. She might try to kill you. You need to be careful. We were going to drag you back to New York so that we could keep an eye on you, but it looks like you're figuring out how to take care of yourself."

"As long as you keep a low profile, there's no reason Hydra would make you a bigger target than us," Teddy adds, munching on a cookie. "That's going to work in your favor."

"Bigger target than you?" Scott echoes.

"Yeah, there's definitely a kill order on Kate, maybe on the whole team," Teddy continues, seemingly unaware that this isn't a comforting topic of conversation.

Scott turns to her, looking more and more bewildered. "Why would you be a higher priority to kill than...like...anyone?"

"Because," Hope joins the conversation, a small smile on her face. "She's the leader of the Young Avengers."

Kate stifles her groan as Hope sits down across from her and extends her hand. "Hope van Dyne. Pleased to meet you, Hawkeye."

"Van Dyne? As in _Janet_ van Dyne? The Wasp?"

"My mother."

"Oh my god, Peggy Carter told me so many amazing stories about her--"

"How do _you_ know Peggy Carter?" Hank butts in.

"Sorry," Teddy says, stopping mid-chew. "Who do you think _recruited_ us?"

"Director Carter was retired before you were even born, son."

"I thought Nick Fury recruited you," Pietro adds, shifting so the rest of the group doesn't have as easy access to the cookies he's holding.

"Fury was in charge of us, sure," Teddy nods amenably. "But Peggy came out of retirement to track us down. She did not like retirement. Super bored. All the time. What?" He snags another cookie. "Don't act like it's not true."

>>>\----->

"Eli!" Kate crosses to her one-time boyfriend and former teammate, arms open, pulling him into a hug. "I didn't realize you were here already. Friday’s usually pretty good about telling us that sort of thing."

"Nah, I just got in. I didn't want to make a big fuss."

"Well, it _is_ a big deal. You’re a big deal." She pulls back from the hug, holding him by the shoulders, giving him a once over. "Okay, you look like crap, Eli. What's going on?"

Eli scratches the back of his neck, staring at the wall, the door, the floor, any place but her. His eyes drift to the observation window, where Tommy still lies, hooked up to several different machines, monitors displaying numbers and readings.

"It's the first time you've seen him like this, isn't it?" Kate squeezes Eli’s shoulder. "I don't want to say that the rest of us are used to it, but…" she trails off.

"Yeah," Eli's voice is soft. "Yeah, it's like, if I didn't actually see him like this, then it wasn't real, you know? He’d still be running around, dishing out crappy one-liners."

She looks at him, observing the way he looks torn between running as far and as fast as he can away from here; the way he leans towards the glass, as if he wants to be closer to Tommy. The way he looks... Regretful. Pained. "Eli, what's really going on?" 

Eli catches her eyes, then, the way her gaze is darting from him to Tommy and back again.

"Eli," her voice is low as she pulls him close. "Are you and Tommy…?"

"What? No!" Eli jerks away from her, his response too fast, too blithely innocent to be believed.

 He can tell he hasn't fooled her.

“Look, don't go making a big deal about it, okay?" He presses his forehead against the cool glass, staring unblinkingly into Tommy’s room. "It's not like we ever _were_ anything, you know? It was just… texting, emailing, it wasn't ever anything. _He_ never felt that way, you know? I wasn’t about to ruin our friendship because I, you know—“

“Have fallen completely in love with him,” _oh my god,_ Kate’s mind finishes. Eli and Tommy—it’s _tragic_ , is what it is, in a way that makes her stomach twist unpleasantly. “When did you…? How long —"

"Those are two different questions, Kate."

“Eli," she ducks her head down so she can meet his eyes that are staring at the floor. “Eli, this is a big deal. And it _sucks._ You can talk to me. I know about—” her words stutter to a stop. “Stuff.”

"I told you, there wasn't ever anything — not really. But, do you remember when you were sort of dating him?" Kate nods and Eli shrugs. "Well, it took me a while to realize that I was actually jealous of both of you."

"Oh, Kate says. ” _Oh_."

"Yeah," Eli gives her a wry smile. "Yeah, it took me a while. Once I figured it out, though," he drifted off. "Well, a lot of things made sense."

"And he doesn't know?"

Eli shakes his head. "Not. He doesn't. I mean, how do you even bring that up in conversation? ‘Hey, man, I've known you for years, and we didn't always get along, but now that we’re mature adults, I'm totally in love with you.’ Yeah. I can't imagine that would've worked well."

"Everything sounds bad when you say it with that attitude. You have to, you know, finesse it a little." She gazes at Tommy, eyes closed, pale skin and a shock of white hair. "Okay, so it's Tommy, finessing is probably not the best option. You just go up to him, and say,’ Tommy, I’m crazy in love with you, let’s get married and bone forever,’ and then you to go off into the sunset get ice cream together forever. Lay it all out there."

"Ice cream?"

"Look, I don't know. It's been a long day. I got my head bashed in by a robot, Eli."

"Your head seems all in one piece to me," Eli smirks but his hand gently rubs at the back of her head, a familiar, comforting gesture. Kate’s throat closes and there’s a hot itch behind her eyes as she thinks of a cool metal hand doing the same.

"Is that why you haven't joined the team again?" She asks, fighting past her own fog of things she wants but can’t have.

Eli shrugs, pulling his hands away to shove them in his pockets. "Maybe? A little? It was part of it, but not a big part. You don't get it, Kate. The superhero thing might be in my blood, but — I don't think it's in my soul. It's what I felt I was _supposed_ to do, not what I felt I _should_ do. That probably sounds like a copout," he finishes after a moment of silence.

"No. Well, I —" Kate stares at Eli. "I guess I just never thought — I mean — _wow_."

She hadn’t ever considered that. That Eli _didn’t want_ to carry on his grandfather’s legacy. They’d all thought they understood Eli’s struggle with that, but they hadn’t even been _close_.

"I know, right? I just thought — I mean, that's what I was _supposed_ to do, right? I was supposed to be the Cap my grandpa never had the chance to be. I was supposed to make sure he wasn’t ever forgotten. It was a lot. It was more than I could carry.”

Kate’s hand finds its way back to Eli’s shoulder, trying to comfort him, trying to ground him. Trying to offer things she hadn’t realized he needed.

“And I didn't have the powers for it, and when I tried — when SHIELD tried — you remember.” The words come faster from Eli now, flowing from him with ease, as if he’d said this enough times in his head that he didn’t even have to search for the words. “It turned me into someone I didn't want to be. Into someone that _wasn't_ me. I still want to help people, just — just not the same way you do."

He looks at her finally, apprehension in the way he holds himself. Kate’s going to beat herself up later for not noticing this, for never thinking to _ask_ , but now—

"You seem happier now. I never — I guess I never really noticed. I’m sorry."

"Well, we don't spend as much time together as we used to," he points out. "You guys make sure the world stays in one piece. I'm trying to make sure the people you're saving don't make the same mistakes."

"Damn, Eli. That was super badass," Kate is stunned.

"Yeah, hopefully the kids I student teach will think so." He avoids making eye contact and shuffles his feet.

“ _Eli_ ,” Kate pulls him into a hug, surprise leaving him stiff against her. One breath, two, and he circles his arms around her, pressing his face into her shoulder. “How are you such a good person?”

“Well, it can’t be you all the time, now can it?”

They stand like that for what feels like forever, until she’s not supporting him, he’s supporting her.

Kate doesn’t have to say anything. Eli _knows_ how hard this is. How she’s replaying everything in her head, all the things she could have done differently, things that might mean Cassie was still with them, that Tommy wouldn't be in that bed. It is, Kate thinks, a different sort of bravery, to walk away from this life.

“Okay,” Eli says, eventually, pulling back. “You’re getting blood on me, time to get you to medical.”

“Right,” Kate says.

Medical.

Medical, food, curling up next to a supersoldier who radiates heat like a furnace, who will not ask her to name her regret, and sleep. Sleep, where she won’t think of how she’s failed her team, or the work not yet done. Sleep, where she doesn’t have to assign words to the things she’s feeling, the things building up at the back of her throat, itching to crawl out her mouth.

=*=

Steve has nightmares for a solid week before Kate finally confronts him about it.

“I didn’t know I was waking you up,” he says, staring at the table. Which is.

“That wasn’t my point, Steve. I just want to make sure you’re okay. What are they about?”

He looks up at her.

“Who dies?” she asks, and he sighs.

“You.”

“Okay. Do you—"

“You fall off of a train. In the mountains. And I can’t do anything about it.”

“Oh.” What else is she supposed to say? “Do you want—"

“You fall because of the shield,” his voice breaks. “Because of me and the shield, just like Bucky.” He takes a few shaky breaths and Kate rubs the back of his neck, scratching through his hair.

“Is there anything I can do to help ease your mind?” she says after his breaths have evened out.

His head snaps up. “Get changed. We’re going to spar.”

“Uh, what?”

“Kate. Please.”

Which is how Kate finds herself in the training room at three AM with Steve’s shield strapped to her arm.

“Now, just because it absorbs vibrations doesn’t mean it’s going to absorb all of the impact,” he tells her, squaring up her hips more and repositioning her arm.

“Okay.”

“Keep your knees loose. Don’t lock them out,” he says.

“No locking. Got it.” She moves the shield a bit so she can grip it better; the shield is lighter than she’d realized but still awkward and unwieldy to hold.

“Ready?”

“Ready as I’m gonna get,” she offers Steve a smile over the top of the shield, and he rushes her.

She _hears_ more than _feels_ Steve run into his shield and she doesn’t move an inch; she shoves back at him and he stumbles a few feet. He rushes her again, catching her at an angle, heaving his shoulder up and sending her flying, landing flat on her back. She manages to keep her grip on the shield and rolls into a ball, tucking her entire body under it.

“Kate?” Steve’s footsteps pound closer. “Are you okay? Jesus, Kate—"

“This is amazing, and you can never have it back,” Kate informs him. “Look at this, I became a turtle.”

Steve drops to the mats, laying his head down so he can see her face under the edge of the shield. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“My ego, maybe. I wasn’t prepared for the change in angle.”

“I want you to be prepared for an angle change. Also bullets. We might need to have Tony stop by with his repulsors.”

Part of her wants to fight Steve on this—it’s ridiculous, she’s never going to be in a situation where she has to use his shield—part of her knows that this isn’t really about her, it’s about calming Steve’s fears.

And another part of her is getting ridiculously, ridiculously drunk on power, because the shield is _awesome_.

“Okay,” she rolls into a sitting position, lets Steve pull her to her feet. She doesn’t _need_ help, she lets him pull her up because sometimes he forgets his own strength and she gets some air time when he pulls hard. (Only a foot this time, the shield is acting as ballast, apparently)

They go through this a few times, Kate trying to read his body language to block, and every time he catches her off guard with a different angle.

“I think I know what you’re doing wrong,” Steve doesn’t bother to haul her up, just lays down next to her as they both stare at the ceiling.

“It is being a foot shorter than you?”

“No,” he chuckles. “No, you’re thinking of the shield as a shield.”

“Ah-huh. And what am I supposed to be thinking of it as? A Frisbee?”

“You’re thinking of it as a means of defense only. Think of it as an offensive weapon. You use batons, you use a sword, think of it more like that. It’s not a shield, it’s a really…round sword.”

“A really round sword. I’m gonna tweet that.”

“I’m serious, Hawkeye.”

She sits up, running her fingers along the edge of it. Parry, thrust, attack, riposte—her brain clicks through the last half hour; angles and momentum and all the times she’d been waiting for an attack instead of moving herself. “Yeah, let’s go again,” she bounces to her feet.

This time when he attacks, she doesn’t just block, she comes at him. When he catches her off-guard, she’s faster to get the shield back in front of her because it’s not just a defensive tool.

She’s feeling pretty good about herself, knocking Steve down, until he takes the opportunity provided by being on the floor to sweep her legs out from under her, and she hits the mats (again) with an _oof_.

“Well that was better?”

“It was great,” Steve grins at her. “I forget about my feet a lot, I figured you’d be ignoring yours.”

“Huh.”

“You okay?”

“I can’t breathe. Gimmie a minute.” She waits for her lungs to start accepting oxygen again. “If you wanted me flat on my back, you could have just asked, Steve.”

He rolls his eyes before rolling on top of her. “Well, when you put it like that—"

“C’mon, man!” Sam yells from the doorway. “People train in here, guys!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took so long i'm so glad to be moving on hooray  
> also we're like two chapters away from ALL NEW CONTENT so you know  
> what.


	9. In Cold Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parties and spying and boyfriends, oh my

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has not been proofread. or beta'ed. this chappie was a real YEET moment for me so it's here before that happens.

Kate isn't sure if Steve just doesn't  _get_ that they're headed in the completely wrong direction to go back to New York, or if he's just assuming she'll tell him where they're actually going when she's ready.  

Either way, he doesn’t ask her about it until they stop for food in Indiana, idling as she eyeballs the number of cars in a diner parking lot, wondering about the odds of someone recognizing Steve and then plastering the picture all over the internet, and the odds of her winding up in one of those pictures, irrevocably and publicly attached to Steve. 

He asks her something, and she murmurs a distracted  _mmm-hmm_ before his words register. "Wait, what?" 

"I asked if you were kidnapping me." He leans back against the door, arms crossed over his chest. "And you said you were." 

Kate squeezes her eyes shut, blocking out the other cars, her hands tight on the steering wheel. "I'm not kidnapping you," she says in a rush. "I'm taking you to meet my grandparents. If you want." He takes longer than two seconds to answer, so she continues with: "We don't have to! It's totally fine. You're right. Let's just turn around." 

Steve's hand snaps out, curling around hers, keeping the steering wheel still. "We're halfway there," he points out, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. "Doesn't make sense to turn around." 

"Doesn't make sense?" 

"If we just drove through Indiana for no reason we're going to have a problem." 

"A  _problem_?" 

"Kate, this is the most boring state in America. If we have to backtrack I'm going to stop dating you for...at least a week. I will be forced to. On principle." 

"Most boring state?" Kate scoffs. "Clearly, you've never driven through Iowa. It's just one, big, flat cornfield." 

"I love corn. Stop avoiding the topic. I'd love to meet your grandparents." 

"Oh. Ok." She takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out. "Do you want to eat here?" 

"They have pie." 

"Steve. Everywhere has pie." 

"McDonalds  _does not count_." 

"It has a fruit filling inside of a crust, it's a pie. It's in the name! Apple pie!" 

"You have Hawk in your name, it doesn't mean you're an actual bird." 

Kate makes an indignant noise that sounds like a chicken being stomped on. A bit screechy. A bit...squawky.  

It's  _bird noise._ Steve starts laughing. "I can't—believe--" he wheezes. 

"I didn't do it on purpose!" 

"That's why it's  _funny_ ," Steve insists, doubling over with laughter.  

Only, he's in a car, and he winds up hitting his head on the dash. Which starts Kate laughing because she's a bad person. 

Pretty soon they're both laughing so hard they're crying, and when Kate finally manages to stop and gasp for air, she realizes that the strange tension they've been carrying between them is gone.  

"I think we needed that," Steve observes. Kate gives a watery chuckle by way of agreement.  

"So do you want to eat here?" Kate swipes under her eyes, scrubbing away the tears. 

"Sure," he says affably, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek, just catching the corner of her mouth. "I love you." 

He gets out of the car, doesn't wait for her, his feet crunching over gravel.  

Something warm works its way through Kate's body, down her throat and through her stomach, up her spine and into her cheeks.  

Like, of  _course_ she knew. Naturally. 

It's still nice to hear! 

A smile creeps its way across her face, tugging at her cheeks. She grips the steering wheel so hard it squeaks in her hands.  

She totally knew. Like,  _totally._  

For sure. 

She also totally doesn’t give a small scream in her car. 

Like, for sure. 

=*= 

Kate is sprawled out on their bed in the hotel room, the day finally catching up with her. Should have let Steve drive, except he's a terrible driver. It's a toss-up which is more exhausting, driving or living in terror that Steve will cause a twelve-car pileup. 

She doesn't hear it until the ancient air conditioner kicks off, the almost forgotten sound of pencil scratching across paper.  She wants to bolt upright, demand to see what he's drawing, but she curbs the instinct. Instead, she just lays there, lulled by the sound. Waiting for a break. 

"Whatcha drawing?"  

"The room." Then: "Your feet." 

"That's tragic. My feet are janky af right now." 

"If that's a ploy to try and get a foot massage, it won't work." 

Kate sits up on her elbows. "It wasn't, actually, but since you offered..." She holds her hand out, beckoning him, and he obliges. She her grip to tug him down, stroking her free hand through his hair, kissing him. 

"Still no foot massage," he tells her when he pulls back.  

"Steve, why on earth do you think I want you near my feet?" 

"Because you want me near all of you." 

Kate stares at him. "Okay. Fair point." 

He leans close again, flicking a wayward strand of hair away from her face. "Can I sketch you?" 

The warm feeling of contentment from earlier is back, and Kate lets it work its way through her muscles as she racks her brain, trying to remember if Steve's seen  _Titanic_.  

The look on his face says he has, because he can see the mental math she's doing, trying to figure it out. 

"Not like one of my French girls. I don't have French girls." 

"French guys?" 

"Kate." 

"Do I have to do anything, or can I just lay here?" 

Steve fluffs a pillow and tucks it under her head. "That's the only thing I need you to do." 

When Kate wakes up three hours later, Steve's done a series of sketches of her, as well as one drawing of a bird of prey under a pile of blankets, large "ZZZZZ"s above the nest. 

"I don't snore," Kate informs Steve. 

"Whatever you say, doll." 

=*= 

When they hit the state line, the windows go down. 

Steve doesn't comment on this, nor does he comment on the smell of burning, or the charred medians.  

When he doesn't comment on the country music, she gets suspicious, which is when she realizes he's been sketching her this whole time, something she missed due to the smell of things burning and the wind whipping through the car. 

"You have a problem," she informs him. 

"I'm an artist. I'm nothing  _but_ problems." 

"Well, can't argue that." 

"Hey," Steve reaches over and squeezes her knee. "It's going to be great. I'm excited to meet your family. The ones that aren't trying to kill you." 

"That's just dad, and it's been a few years." 

"I don't think time makes that less of a shitty thing." 

Kate shrugs, pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine. "I guess." 

"You  _guess?"_  

"It's not that big a deal. Or it is, it's just not something I want to deal with right now, okay? Right now I want you to meet my grandparents, who will make fun of you for being an Army boy, and who will feed us, and not think about  _everything_ for like. Ten seconds." 

"Okay." Steve watches her for a few minutes. "Were we going to go in at some point?" 

Kate opens her door. "Right. Right." She's out of the car before Steve even opens his door, is at his side of the car and pulling him out, barely waiting for him to unbuckle his seatbelt before dragging him up to the front door and knocking.  

"Is this one of those rip the bandaid off things?" Steve asks. 

She doesn't get a chance to answer before the door is opened.  

Her grandfather stares at the two of them through the screen door, looking up at Steve. 

Papa merely harumphs at them before letting them in. 

=*= 

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" 

"This is why people  _call_ before they come visit," her grandmother says severely. "It's the genealogy convention. We've been planning on going to this for a year." 

"But I...wanted you to meet my boyfriend," Kate finishes faintly. "I had stuff I wanted to talk to you about." 

"Well," Sobo says, "perhaps you should have  _called."_  

"I would have texted you but you don't text," Kate argues, twitching her arm. Steve keeps tapping her on the shoulder, which, like.  _Dude_. "What?" She finally snaps. 

Steve points to the far wall in the living room, the one that has the loom Papa was making last time she was here. He's in the middle of a project that involves a lot of purple, which is maybe why Steve thinks pointing it out to her is more important than getting angry at her grandparents, which it's  _not_ \-- 

"Kate," he mutters. "Actually  _look_ at it." 

So she does. 

And promptly chokes on nothing but air. 

Her feet carry her to the loom, the conversation her grandparents are having ebbing past her. 

Purple. Lots of purple. Arrows form a border. Arrows and stars.  These aren't traditional motifs—and small, in the corner, a very non-traditional item.  

A small bird. 

She covers her mouth to muffle the sound she makes.  

"Sweetie," says Sobo, as Papa comes around and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Did you really think we wouldn't figure it out?" 

"You keep bringing all these army boys around," Papa says, kissing her forehead. "You aren't exactly subtle, sweetheart." 

Behind them, Steve starts to laugh. "Sorry," he says, looking properly chagrined by his outburst in this serious moment.  

=*= 

The house feels weirdly empty without her grandparents in it, but genealogy conventions are genealogy conventions and reservations are reservations, and Kate really needs to get better at planning ahead. 

It's nice, though—nice to be someplace private, and quiet, where they can just chill before they head back to New York. They're lounging on the couch when the door rattles and they go from relaxed to expecting the worst in an instant. A series of hand gestures and Kate is at the door, Steve around the corner, tucked away with a gun drawn.  

Something scrapes in the lock—a key? A lockpick? Kate closes her hand around the handle, preventing it from turning. Kate hazards a look out the peephole and immediately yanks the door open. 

" _Bucky_?" She grabs him by the collar of his shirt and yanks him inside, flinging her arms around his neck and breathing him in. Her mind is perfectly blank as his arms snake around her. 

"Hawk? What are you—when did you--" he breathes out, burying his face in her hair. "It's good to see you." 

Steve rounds the corner—something Kate only knows by the displacement of air and another set of arms encircling her and Bucky. 

"What are the two of you doing here?" Bucky asks, loosening his grip on her. 

"Uh. My grandparents live here?" 

"I know  _that._ But they aren't here now. Some kind of family tree thing?" Bucky takes a step back but doesn’t let go of her.  

"How does he know about that and you didn't?" Steve asks. 

"Clearly he's a better person than I am," Kate rolls her eyes in response. "Duh." 

Bucky looks confused by this, like it's a joke he doesn't get. Which, well, she was trying to be slightly humorous, but Bucky does happen to be a good person who deserves to hear that a lot. "So if you know my grandparents aren't here...why  _are_ you here?" 

"They wanted me to dog sit." 

That makes sense, but in the back of her mind Kate has a nagging suspicion that there's something more going on. Her grandparents are crafty, after all. 

She had to get it from  _somewhere_. 

=*= 

The night is steamy-hot. The glass bottle in Kate's hand is sweating, the label rolling off in her fingers as she fidgets with it. The once-smooth wood of the bench bites into the backs of her thighs as she leans back. 

Bucky's knee is pressed to hers, and every so often he darts a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, as if he's waiting for her to object, or pull away. Or catch on, maybe he thinks she hasn't figured it out yet.  

He and Steve are talking about something, laughing about it, and Kate is only half aware of the conversation, just letting the easy tone of it wash over her. 

Steve's hand brushes the back of her neck, gathering her hair up and holding it against the back of her head, letting the weak breeze cool her. Kate leans into his touch, her eyes drifting closed. His fingers tap a question against her skull, and she shrugs. "Sure, if you want." Her voice is even but her throat closes up. Steve keeps his hand on her as he leans forward, into Bucky, kissing him.  

Bucky doesn't do anything, frozen like a deer in headlights, so Kate takes his hand, lacing her fingers through his metal ones.  Cold, as usual, a nice bonus in this stifling heat.  

It's the wrong move, one that stirs Bucky from his inaction, his free hand coming up to shove Steve away. "What the  _fuck_ , Stevie?" He snarls, trying to shake his hand free of Kate's. "You've—your girl is right there!" 

"Whoa!" 

"When did I go from  _Kate_ to  _Steve's girl_?" Kate snaps, indignant.  

" _That's_ what you have a problem with right now?" 

"You know what?" Steve sits back, hands up in surrender. "That's a fair reaction. We could have done this better." 

"Done  _what_ better?" Bucky asks, looking from Steve to Kate and back. His shoulders hunch as he curls in on himself.  

"My plan didn't work," Steve gives a  _go ahead_ gesture to Kate. "You're up." 

"For god's sake, Steven. It's not like you two have known each other for  _a hundred years_ or anything. Bucky," she says, ignoring her idiot boyfriend for the moment. "Steve and I are dating." 

"I knew that--" 

"I wasn't finished." 

Bucky clams up immediately, his back straight as he looks at Steve, who gives him what is probably supposed to be an encouraging nod.  

"So Steve and I are dating. But we both really care about you. A lot. And we like you. A lot. Would you like to date us?" Steve elbows her. "Well, maybe not technically date right now, since we haven't figured out how to make you not a fugitive. So I guess do you want to  _be_ with us." 

"Be with you," Bucky repeats, voice flat.  

"Like. As a couple." 

"Kate, you know a couple is two, right?" 

"Okay, if I say  _bring me a couple of cookies_ and you bring me two, I'll be pissed. A couple can be more than two. A couple can be an archer, a supersoldier, and their sniper boyfriend." Kate tilts her head, thinking. Is she quoting something? 

A smile flickers across Bucky's face and just as quickly vanishes. "Kate, that's a meme." 

"Just because it's a meme doesn't mean it's not true," Steve points out. 

"That's also not an answer." Kate chews on her lower lip.  

"It's a big question, so feel free to take your time," Steve adds. Bucky snorts at this, clearly not buying Steve and patience.  

"We can do that?" Is what Bucky finally says. "You want to do that? You're not just—just saying that because it's what I want?" 

So much information there.  _Too_ much information there.  

"Bucky," Kate says in the ensuing silence. Stops. Clambers on his lap, taking his face in her hands. "Bucky. You seem to think that Steve and I are...good people. We are not. We are selfish assholes who would not offer things like this unless we also wanted them." 

"You," Bucky says, once he unthaws from his stunned freeze and kissing the tip on her nose. "Are a terrible liar." 

" _What_." 

"Since when are you and Stevie selfish?" His expression changes. "If anyone's selfish here, it's me--" 

This is not an argument Kate is currently willing to entertain. Rather, she plants her lips on his, cutting off his flow of words. She should probably let Steve in on this at some time, but right now she's got a point to prove about being selfish.  

Bucky's hands curl lightly around her hips, and Steve, who apparently also feels he has a point to prove about being selfish, presses his thumb to the corner of her mouth, creating a small space that he somehow manages to get into. The three of them are kissing and it's messy and sloppy and  _good._  

Steve guides Bucky's hands down Kate's back to grip her ass, grinding her down against Bucky. Holy shit  _holy shit_  there are so many hands everywhere, Steve's slipping under her shirt and Kate doesn't know how she wound up the center of attention but god, she's loving it. 

Steve's teeth find purchase on her neck and the world goes sharp white for a moment as her hips stutter against Bucky's. She loves when Steve drops his wholesome Americana front, loves that he gets wild and dirty and  _real_ for her. With her, because of her. 

With Bucky, too.  

Bucky, who-- 

Steve bites again, and Bucky ducks in to soothe with his soft lips and a gentle tongue.  

Fuck. Fuck. Her hips grind down hard against his and Kate calculates how quickly she can get her pants off before the wind rustles through the tree overhead and she remembers where she is. 

She leans hard to the left, practically falling off of Bucky's lap before Steve catches her by the shoulders. "Guys," she tells them. "We're not having sex in my grandparents' house." 

"This is outside your grandparents house," Bucky informs her. 

 _Smartass_ _._  

>>>\-----> 

"No thanks," Kate says as Tony takes her coffee and exchanges it for a purple gauntlet. "I don't want a suit." 

"It's not a suit, It's just armor. You're all breakable and squishy on the inside." 

"I'm  _fine_. I've been doing just great with the suit I've got--" 

Tony leans into her space, eye-to-eye with her. "If you  _don't_ ," he pauses for what is clearly dramatic effect. "I will make sure everyone in this tower and in the Avengers Complex calls you Katie." 

"You can't make my friends do that." 

"You underestimate my willingness the throw money at a problem." 

Well. He's got her there.  

"C'mon, Bishop. You're like the obnoxious sister I never wanted." 

Kate waits. 

"I'm bored." 

There it is. Tony gives her one of his standard charming grins, and with a sigh, Kate relents.  

"This is awful," she informs him twenty minutes later. "Can't you make me a laser arrow instead?" 

>>>\-----> 

Kate is trying not to fidget. 

It’s a struggle. 

“It’s going to be fine,” Pietro assures her, patting her hand that is resting on his forearm. 

“Of course it’s going to be fine,” Kate steps closer to his side, trying to hide her movements behind the speedster. “My bodice is lined with Kevlar and it’s digging into my ribs.” 

“Oh!” Pietro ducks his head around, making sure no one is watching them too closely, before sneaking his hand to her waist, catching the bottom of her corset and lifting up a hair as Kate bends her knees to try and get it to lift. 

She has a few seconds of blessed relief when Pietro drops his hand and the ambassador heads over to them. 

“You’re good to go,” the woman smiles. “The president wanted me to thank you again, Ms. Bishop, and you, Mr…” an almost unnoticeable peek at the invitation in her hand and she continues, “Shepherd. You and your friends—it seems you have the strange effect of making altruism fashionable.” 

“Well, someone’s got to trick people into parting with their money,” Kate fights the grin tugging at her mouth. 

“You make me want to vomit,” Pietro informs her once they are ushered through the door. 

“Thank you,” she replies out of the corner of her mouth. “I try.” 

Pietro unsuccessfully tries to hide his laugh as a cough. 

Pietro is a surprisingly terrible dancer. He keeps trodding on her feet, spinning her too fast—which is fun but hardly dignified, particularly when she can’t see straight and she stumbles into him because the world’s gone wibbly-wobbly. 

It’s actually  _fun._ It’s also fun because Steve is there and he’s staring, which the few photographers present haven’t seemed to notice yet. He also seems to be glaring every time Pietro steps on her feet which is hil- _larious_ , Steeben. 

She has mercy on him eventually, poor Steeb all by himself. Kate can’t take him seriously when he’s all pouty like that. Well, it might be the pout combined with him requesting  _and getting_ a senior citizen discount three days ago. There’s no way to take him seriously after that. 

She's about to tell Pietro to drop her off by the bar—Tony is there, staring morosely into a martini glass, which is never a good thing—when she catches sight of something. She drags Pietro to a halt before turning them in a completely different direction.  

Pietro's smile becomes fixed, almost plastic. "What do you see?" 

He keeps dropping his American accent, and Kate's about to remind him that he's still Tommy right now, when she spots a him again, someone she should know but can't place. 

"I'm not sure--" 

But—he's gone. Whoever she thought she saw. 

It can’t be said that she and Pietro  _glide_ towards Steve, but they make their way towards him with a modicum of—well, it’s not grace, either.  _Haste_ is probably a good option, one that explains Kate’s breathlessness as she extends her hand to Steve with a smile and, “Care to set the society pages abuzz, Captain?” 

“Well, how can I resist that offer?” 

The song is blessedly slow, allowing her to shuffle her feet around Steve’s, and giving him an excuse to pull her close. “Who are you looking for?” 

He turns her slowly, allowing her a chance to leisurely scan the room. “Aren’t you missing a plus-one?” she dodges. 

“Sam’s visiting his brother.” Steve spins her. “Is this something I should know about?” 

“Oh, definitely not,” she says through her teeth, not moving her lips. “I’m—“ 

Steve gives her a small shake of his head, and Kate clams up immediately as Steve slows them, a man hovering just outside the edges of Kate's vision. 

"Captain. Miss Bishop. I don't believe we've had the pleasure." 

Kate freezes, dread trickling down her spine.  

"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?" He holds out his hand, the very picture of a gentleman. A clever illusion. He isn't a gentleman, and she doesn't want to take his hand, but he knows just as well as she does that this is a public forum, and for people like them, there is no privacy, not here. Not with cameras and press to document and analyze every movement, even if hers are just being watched by TMZ and his by CNN. 

"Banner, was it?" Kate asks, taking his hand. 

The lines deepen around his mouth as he smiles harder, though there's no humor in his eyes. He doesn't skip a step as he waltzes them towards the center of the dance floor. "General Ross, actually." 

"A general! Adorable," Kate smiles her very best vapid heiress smile. She hasn't been Kate Bishop, Monster Heiress in a long time, but she's still got it. "Is general higher or lower than captain? Am I upgrading or downgrading?" 

"I'd be very careful, if I were you, Miss Bishop," Ross says pulling her closer. Too close, his aftershave clogging her nostrils. He's using his height and bulk to box her in. A cheap power play, but one that annoys more than intimidates. "There's--" 

"A storm coming? Should I batten down the hatches? I've been outrunning your storm for years, Thunderbolt. What makes this one different?" 

"You always thought you were so clever, Bishop." 

"I'm not clever. I'm just smarter than you." 

"If you're smart, you'll make sure you wind up on my side in the coming months." 

Kate forces her breath out in an even gust. "I'll wind up on your side when you come clean about all that human experimentation you've done." 

"They all agreed to it. Volunteered, even." 

She grinds her teeth. Smiles harder. He's been holding the party line for years and he'll probably hold it til he's dead at this rate. Even if, somewhere deep, deep down, he knows that there's no way a fifteen-year-old can reasonably consent to highly experimental drug trials, he won't admit it.  

People tell themselves a lot of lies to get through the day. 

"I don't know what game you're playing with Captain Rogers, but you need to step very carefully. Don't make yourself my enemy, Bishop." 

"You did that on your own a long time ago, Thunderdome. When you took an angry teenage boy and exploited him." 

"You've always been very self-righteous," Ross informs her, smiling and nodding to someone over her shoulder. "If you're so angry about it, why don't you tell your story to the press? To the government? Might even get some traction now." His grip on her tightens, drawing her closer. "I'm not an idiot. I know the only reason you've kept quiet is mutually assured destruction. You can't take me down without exposing yourselves." Too close, he's too close, and Kate twists her wrist in his hold as he leans down, to speak right into her ear. "Do you know what Ceasar's guards used to say to him when he returned from conquering the world?" 

"Everyone knows what they said," Kate's smile bares her teeth as she yanks her hand back. "You might want to get some new lines. You've used this one on me before." 

Ross opens his mouth, probably to unleash a less-than-scathing retort, only to be interrupted by a man, tapping on his shoulder.  

"Excuse, please. Might I have this dance?" The man is bowed at the waist so all Kate can see is his dark hair and an elegantly gloved hand offered to her. He has a pronounced accent—Russian, perhaps—that doesn't quite mask something that is almost familiar in his voice.  

She puts her hand in his, the gloves surprisingly cool to the touch. "Love to," she chirps. Anything to get away from General Close Talker. "A pleasure meeting you." 

Ross clenches his jaw and Kate grins. A public forum. Good for certain types of confrontation. Not so much for others. He takes hold of her shoulders, ignoring the fact that the other man has her hand in his, to press a kiss to each of her cheeks.  

That's probably what it looks like, anyway.  

"Remember," he whispers in one ear. "You are mortal. " 

She waits until he's a few feet away, hoping that  _one_ of these members of the press catches this, before calling to his retreating back. "No thanks, I'd rather not. You're a little old for me." 

The man still holding her hand gives a polite cough and Kate turns. Very. Very. Slowly.  

She didn't recognize him at first, not with the carefully styled hair and the neatly trimmed beard. Something in the back of her brain does, of course, that has her shoulders dropping and the defensiveness leaching out of her posture.  

"That man," she says teeth gritted behind her plastered-on smile, "Would throw your ass in a dungeon faster than you could say indictment. What was--" she splutters. "What was the point of that?" 

"Is that Doom? I thought he wore a mask." 

"He's not Doom!" 

"Oh. Okay. You know an awful lot of people who don't like you." 

Kate kicks herself because either she is incredibly stupid or Bucky Barnes is a master of disguise.  

"What are you doing here?" She hisses through gritted teeth.  

"Dancing," he informs her, and proceeds to pull her close and spin her around the dance floor. They're pretty good partners, truth be told. Instinct and practice and familiarity with one another lend themselves to a grace Kate only usually achieves with Tony. 

"You look good," Kate tells him. It's been two months.  

"You don't look half bad yourself." 

"That's not what I—okay, maybe a little, but that's not really what I meant." 

"I know." 

His hair is cut short, but still long enough to be artfully mussed; his beard is thick enough to distort his features but well groomed, more like rich-guy-wants-to-convince-you-he-could-survive-in-the-wilderness than mountain man. More than all that, though, he looks  _healthy_. Like he's eating well and getting sleep and not getting beaten up every month.  

"You're going to want to get out of here. Try and evacuate some people while you're at it."  

"Why?" 

"Some Hydra agents are going to be busting in at some point. They got word that some sort of information exchange was going to go down tonight, and they want in." 

"Oh, fuck me." The odd of that are...what? Really bad, probably. Kate spots David out of the corner of her eye, so thank heaven for little miracles. 

"Pardon?" 

"They're here for us," Kate clarifies. She spots David, looking harried, tie askew, sweating a little, black duffel in hand, and would make a beeline for him if not for Bucky's hand, firm on her waist. 

"Slow," he cautions. "Sudden movements will attract attention." 

"Right." Kate reminds herself to breathe, offers Bucky a smile. "You should pretend to laugh at something I'm saying." 

Bucky throws his head back and laughs before sweeping her in a wide turn, eating up a large swathe of the dance floor. A few more steps bring them to David—who is staring, slack-jawed—and Steve—who has his arms crossed and a frown marring his brow.  

Kate ignores both of them, tucking her hand into Bucky's elbow and dragging him to the table. 

"You're--" David points at Bucky. "You're--" 

"A complete stranger," Kate snaps, slapping his hand down.  

David opens and closes his mouth a few times without managing to string together a sentence. 

"Later," Kate finally reassures him. "You may have...found some new friends in the course of getting that." 

"Tell me something I don't know," he mutters, eyes darting from Kate to Bucky. "Is he one of those friends, or...?" 

Bucky is looking over her head, scanning the exits, probably, but she can feel him tense under her hand. "A regular sort of friend." 

Bucky smiles, ever-so-faintly, and Kate soldiers on. "So what brings you here? You're an hour and a half early and I don't like the look on your face." 

As if to prove her point, David glances back at Steve. 

“Should I get my shield from the coat check?” Steve offers. 

“That might be premature—wait, you actually checked it?” 

Steve’s face is inscrutable. 

“I don't know if you're going to want to be next to her in a few minutes, Rogers.” 

“What?” Kate flexes her fingers, itching for a weapon. "Why me?" 

“So, you know that thing I was doing?” 

“Emptying lobster traps, yep.” Digital lobster traps, full of informational lobsters. Information from SHIELD, from Hydra, probably from a lot of places they’re not supposed to get information from. Kate has been actively trying to avoid even thinking the word  _cyberterrorism_ for several months now. 

“Well, uh,” David scratches his nose. “Someone may have been waiting for us to do that.” 

Kate keeps her mouth shut but can’t stop her eyebrows from creeping up. 

“Or maybe just waiting for us to come back in general.” 

“ _Here-_ here?” 

“Five minutes tops.” 

"Okay, well, much as I hate to say it, I hope your people are the same as our people," she says to Bucky before turning to David. "He followed some...friends...here, so there  _is_ a possibility that there are going to be two groups of people unhappy with us, not just one." David still looks confused. "Ross is here." 

"Oh, damn. In that case, I'd like to propose one of us cut and run with, uh..." David trails off, sweeping his foot under the table and nudging something into her feet. 

“And what’s—?” Kate inclines her head to the bag. 

“Our lobsters.” 

"How compromised are you?" 

"Don't know. Enough that I didn't want to keep it in my room." 

Kate knows David well enough that her next question is, “ _How_  did they notice you?” 

“They were looking.” 

“Well, that’s comforting.” 

“They weren’t looking for  _me,_ they were waiting for someone to look where I was looking,” David continues, not meeting her gaze. 

“And. Uh. Where, exactly, were you looking? Lobstering?” 

David leans his elbows on one of the tables at the edge of the dance floor, leaning in to cover his mouth with his hand. “Well, I was following this trail from the CIA—“ 

Kate mimics his posture in time to hiss, “The  _CIA_ _—“_  

“To Interpol—“ 

“ _Interpol?”_  

 _“_ To the NSA—“ 

“The  _NSA_ , David, are you about to say the phrase  _light treason_?” 

“No! Well. I’m not sure?” 

“So the NSA…” Kate prompts. 

“Well, so. The thing is. Hydra. They were big on diversification.” 

Bucky snorts. 

Kate stares at David because  _diversification_  is throwing her off until what he’s saying sinks in. “So. Is Hydra in  _all_  of those organizations, or just some?” 

“Well, it wasn’t as widespread they were in SHIELD.” 

“That wasn’t what I asked at all.” 

“Because the answer is yes. Less in Interpol, more in the NSA.” 

“I am almost afraid of the next words that are going to come out of your mouth.” 

“I was looking for our,” his eyes dart around the room. “Our  _missing friends_. And I didn’t find anything much on one, but on the other,” another glance around the room. “The one with the affinity for bugs—“ David frowns. 

Kate frowns back. “That actually—“ 

“Isn’t helpful at all, right. The blonde—no, wait. The one that you. You know. Slept with.” 

Kate blinks slowly and prays for patience. 

“I have intel on him. And—well, you helped me with sort through some of the catch. You know what’s in here.” 

“Hence my surprise that you  _brought it here_.” 

“Well, they’re going to be at where I’m staying—right now, probably.” 

“And here, too,” Bucky adds, nodding his head at the main entrance to the room. “And here  _now_.” 

Kate can see three men in suits, out of the corner of her eye another two. 

“This is going to be rough,” she says, which is when a gunshot cracks through the room and the lights flicker and dim. 

There is a second of silence before all hell breaks loose. 

There is a scream, and mild pandemonium, and Kate takes the bag from David, slinging it across her body just as a generator kicks on, lights coming back at low level. 

The men are almost upon them, but leading the way is someone—a woman, Kate thinks—covered head to toe in close-fitting black leather. No, maybe it’s purple? 

Her head and face are completely covered by a silver helmet, and there’s something at her wrists— 

She fires a blast reminiscent of a Widow’s Bite that Bucky ducks, dragging Kate down with him. 

There’s something in Kate’s brain—something she’s trying to figure out—when another blast scorches the wall behind them. 

"They brought  _her_ out of cryo?" Bucky mutters, more to himself. "That's--" 

"What do you mean,  _her_?" Steve asks. 

" _Her_. She's a strange choice. One of the youngest—I wasn't the only soldier, you guys  _know_ that, right?" 

Screams fill the room and a blast splinters the edge of a table that wasn't behind them a second ago. 

“Fine time to be caught without a weapon, eh?” Pietro says, passing Steve his shield. "I don't have anything for anyone else—wait. Don't I know you?" He's staring at Bucky, and that's an interesting line of questioning that's going to need to wait until later. 

Kate hikes her dress up, pulling a knife out of the holster at her thigh, and Pietro stares, his attention dragged away from Bucky. “Wait. How did you get that past security?” 

“It’s ceramic,” Kate edges her head past the top of the table, trying to get the lay of the land. “Doesn’t set off metal detectors.” 

“You’re terrifying, you know?” 

“Thank you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.” Kate flashes him a grin. She hitches the other side of her dress up to get at the set of five smaller throwing knives. 

Pietro mutters something she can’t quite catch but she thinks it’s a prayer. Whatever. She’s not saying she doesn’t  _need_ prayers. 

She probably does. She’ll take it. 

Bucky is staring, so she gives him a gentle shove. "Don't act like you're not armed to the teeth." 

"It was—I was—a lot of leg," he finally gets out, and Kate smiles.  

"When we're not getting shot at, maybe." Kate is up enough to throw a knife at the person in the suit—the first one skids off the suit, the second catches some sort of tube—a breathing apparatus? A pressure stabilizer? 

The visor on the helmet slides up and Kate can see the person inside the suit. 

Everything goes very still around Kate. 

Or. 

No, it doesn’t. 

The world continues to turn, but she stays perfectly still, rooted in place. 

Kate can smell the acrid tang of burning wood. There’s shouting, the clatter of broken glass. 

There’s shouting. 

For a strange, empty moment Kate can’t tell if she’s up or down, standing or falling.  _Why her, she's the youngest--_  

Something snags her dress—she can feel the tug of fabric, something hitting her foot. 

Cassie is here to kill her. 

Kate can’t put her thoughts in order, can’t do  _anything_ because she’s frozen, thoughts of civilians and fight plans unable to coalesce amid the fog of  _Cassie, Cassie is here, Cassie is here to kill me, they did this to Cassie_ _, they took my friend and they made her a weapon._  

She can’t let them keep doing this to Cassie. She thinks about what Hydra did to Bucky, and she can’t allow that to keep happening to Cassie, she has to end this— 

Kate doesn’t know how long she’s been standing up until suddenly she’s being pulled back to the floor, a blast slicing through the air where her head had been. 

“I know that look,” Steve tugs her close to his side, holding his shield over their heads. “That is the look of a Hawkeye about to do something incredibly stupid.” 

“I have to help her, Steve,” her voice feels flat, her body feels numb. “I can’t let her—I have to—“ 

“ _Kate_ ,” Steve’s hand circles her arm, squeezing. “You’re no good to anyone dead.” 

Realization hardens Bucky's features. "That's Cassie?" 

She can’t speak, she can’t even move as Pietro curls her fingers back around her knife. Her mind is back on the streets of New York, fighting an alien invasion; debriefing in a SHIELD facility; a spa day and the two of them jokingly getting a  _best friends_ _forever_ necklace— 

Kate rises again, only to be yanked back down. "I have to!" She snaps. "I have to, I have to try and save her, she's still in there--" 

"Maybe," Bucky thumbs the safety off of a gun he got from god knows where. "But we don't have the time for you to pull her out, okay? That's not how this works." 

Kate looks from Steve to Bucky. "Fucking  _bullshit_ ," she informs them, darting around the table and making for Cassie. 

She hits Cassie at a run, tackling her to the ground, only to be thrown off. Cassie gets to her feet before Kate, looming over her, so much  _taller_ than Kate remembers. A swipe of her legs has Cassie down again and Kate smashes her knife down on Cassie's helmet, trying to break it open or get it off, anything so they can  _see_ each other.  

Cassie throws Kate off of her with surprising force, sending her into a table and chairs like a bowling ball. She scrambles to her feet as Cassie approaches her,  _stalks_ her. 

"Cassie, come on, it's me! It's Kate!" 

The visor slides back up. "Who the hell is Cassie?" 

Kate's entire body goes numb, her knife dropping from her fingertips.  _I can't fight her, I have to save her_ _-_  

Cassie lifts her arm, spikes in the cuffs at her wrists, and Kate knows she's going to die when Steve's shield catches Cassie in the chest and knocks her backwards. A puff of wind, and Kate is back behind the table, Pietro looking a terrified and more than a little angry. 

"Why do you think you can fight with a brainwashed supersoldier?" He snaps at her. 

"Fuck _off_ , Pietro, this isn't your fight!" She wrenches her arm away from him, only to be grabbed by Steve, who pins her between his body and the upended table. 

"Dammit! Steve, you have to let me—you have to--" 

"No! I can't lose you, Kate. I'm not going to let you die for her." 

"You don't get to make that choice!" 

"Bucky," Steve turns to him. "Get her out of here, she's a liability." 

"No!" Kate grabs fistfuls of Steve's tux, anchoring herself. "I'm staying!" 

"Hawkeye," Steve's voice is low and urgent. "She's here for  _you_. If you leave, she'll follow. I know you want to save her, but there are  _hundreds_ of civilians here. You need to go, and you need to go  _now_." 

Kate swallows her arguments and takes a second to breathe, to think, to accept.  

She can't let Cassie kill civilians. For the civilians just as much as Cassie. She has to get the information David gathered out of here. One breath, two. Kate pulls her phone out of the top of her dress and tucks it into Steve's breast pocket. "Give this to David. Tell him to go with the Bat Plan." 

"The Bat Plan?" 

"He'll know what it means." She looks from Pietro to Steve. "So, how am I getting out of here?" 

Gunshots crack through the room and Bucky flings himself next to her and Steve. "That would be me." 

"How are we going to do this so that they see me?" 

"Nobody has a flashbang?" Steve asks. 

"That would be in my other dress." 

"We could start fire?" 

"This is a historical building! We're not setting it on fire!" 

Pietro gives her a very impressive bitchface. "This is funny, I think, coming from woman who owns grenade launcher." 

"I told you that  _in confidence,_ Pietro!" 

"I think," Bucky says, pausing to fire off a few shots, "we're going to go out the front door." 

=*= 

The front door is guarded, of course, and Hydra seems to know they're here for  _her_ , but pretending to be drunk has never failed to gain Kate anything less than a ten second advantage, and today is no different. Those ten seconds are just enough for Bucky to get the drop on one of the guards and Kate on another. They meet at the third and then haul ass to an alleyway, where there's a motorcycle tucked in the shadows next to a dumpster. 

Bucky tosses her a helmet while someone spots them from above, hurling words at them in—Russian? Bucky's shoulder creep up towards his ears, panic setting in and Kate wonders—trigger words? A reset button?  

Her body and brain aren't quite working in tandem, which is why it takes her so long to thrust Bucky's helmet at him—block out some noise—and begin singing the most obnoxious song she can think of as loudly as she can. If he can't hear the words, they won't work, right? 

Bucky's hand is hard on her elbow. As he curls her hand around a gun. Not for the agents. For him. In case he turns on her. 

He won't. 

Kate tightens her grip on the strap of the bag still slung across her body.  

"We need to go. Now." Bucky informs her as he kneels and rips off a good two feet of her skirt, tossing it down the alley as she jams the helmet on, shoving her hair up into it. Kate has the strangest sensation of being back in the woods after the Triskelion fell, of looking at a man who doesn't know if she needs to be killed or not. 

One of the goons yelling at them in Russian empties their clip and in the ensuing silence they make a break for the bike, roaring out of the alley and weaving in and out of traffic. Kate’s arms are snug around Bucky’s middle and she can feel him shaking. 

She squeezes him tighter. Sings louder. Bucky pats her hands while they’re at a stop before swearing extensively at two guys in a car next to them who took the liberty of rolling down their windows and whistling at her. 

“Fuck off!” Kate shouts as they zip off. It's things like this that gave her the reputation of being belligerent and drunk all the time. 

“There she is,” Bucky jokes. He sounds strained, like he’s holding on to himself.  

Or maybe holding the Winter Soldier back. 

Kate laughs, her voice hoarse.  

=*= 

Bucky makes sure the doors and windows are secure before throwing himself into the kitchen. 

 “ _Shit._ ” Bucky is huddled in the corner, a gun in his hand, holding his head, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” Kate says softly, reining in the instinct to rush to him, to try and figure out what’s happening in his head. He’s been fighting it since the Embassy—Kate checks the time on the oven. Assuming it’s correct—less than an hour. 

The man lets out a low, drawn out groan, as if he’s in pain. 

Kate kneels in front of him, hands palm-up on her knees so he can see she isn’t armed. 

“ _They’re here,”_ he says. “ _In my head, I can’t—I’m not safe_ _—_ “ 

Kate’s heart aches for a brief moment. She wants to hold him; she wants to get the gun away from him; she wants to get him out of here. 

Unfortunately, she can’t do any of those things. 

“What’s your name?” 

Bucky stares wide-eyed at a stain in the linoleum. Kate ducks her head down so he has to look at her. “Hey. Do you remember your name?” 

“Bucky,” he blinks, his eyes meeting hers. “Bucky Barnes.” 

“Good,” she offers him a small smile. “Do you remember where you are?” 

“Sokovia.” Another blink, a deep exhale that drops his shoulders. “And you’re Kate. You have a dog named Lucky. Your grandfather keeps trying to cut my hair.” 

“Really?” Bucky tries to hand his gun to her, another damn gun, an action that has her swallowing acid at the back of her throat. “Just holster it, Bucky.” 

He growls at her, slapping the grip against her palm and curling her fingers around it. “What happens if you  _need_ to put—“ 

She cuts him off with a glare, thumbing the safety on and jamming it in his holster. “That’s never an option.” 

“I’m going to kill you one day.” 

“Well, apparently a line is forming for the right to do that. So, you know. Wait your turn.” 

“I’m not going to let that happen.” 

“One minute you’re saying you’re going to kill me and the next you’re saying no one is. You can’t have it both ways, Bucky.” Kate leans forward, pressing her forehead against his. 

“And here you always tell me nobody gets to tell me what to do anymore.” His metal hand curves against her neck. “Make up your mind.” 

They sit like that for a few minutes until Kate pulls back with a chuckle. “My knees can’t take this.” 

Bucky smiles at her—and it’s  _all_  Bucky with no shadow of the Winter Soldier lingering at the edges. He plucks at curl and pulls what Kate  _hopes_ is lettuce out of her hair. “I might have something you can wear,” he tells her, pulling Kate to her feet. She trails him as he disappears into a room, lingering in the living room. 

The apartment is sparse; shabby but clean. A threadbare sofa and a backpack next to an old tv. “How long have you been living here?” 

“Two months,” Bucky calls from the bedroom. 

Kate fingers the frayed hem of what was once a very nice dress. “He’s going to be here any minute, you know.” 

Bucky doesn’t respond which is how Kate catches the sound of the door being jimmied. She flattens herself against the wall next to the door, knife in hand. 

The door swings open to reveal Steve, shield at the ready and gun drawn. 

Kate grabs him by the lapel and drags him in. “Is that how you clear a room? How are you not dead?” 

Steve tries to shove her behind him. “Where is he? Are you safe?” 

“I’m fine. He’s fine. Are you alone?” 

His eyes take in the room before he gives her a minute nod. 

“Put your gun away, Steve. Is Cassie…” Kate trails off as Steve shakes his head. 

“She got away with her handlers. A few civilian injuries, mostly from pandemonium. Once you left they didn’t linger.” 

“Right.” Kate tries to unclench her hand from Steve’s jacket but finds she can’t. The strange suspended reality she’s been in, trying to make sure Bucky is all right, falls apart around her. “They still—I have to—“ 

“Not right now. Not without a plan. Kate, we  _will_ come up with a plan and we  _will_  find her. We will rescue her.” 

“We?” 

“Yeah, Stevie’s fine rushing headlong into danger alone but he doesn’t like anybody else to,” Bucky sidesteps into the main room, hands up. 

Steve's eyes dart between her and Bucky, clearly a man torn, before dragging Kate towards Bucky and holding them both. 

"So," Kate's voice is muffled against Steve's side. "We think they were there to kill me?" 

"I don't think so," Bucky says with a shake of his head. "If they'd been there for you, this would have been less...messy." 

"Because they would have killed you right away," Steve says, as if that was not perfectly obvious. He continues, his voice thin. "I'd really appreciate it, if next time you're running a mission and I'm already going to be there, you'd let me know, so I  _know people might be trying to kill you_." 

"Well, look, if we'd done our jobs right people wouldn't have been there to kill me. No one would have been the wiser." 

"Think you're missing the point, doll." 

"I know, I know." Kate closes her eyes. "This wasn't supposed to involve me. This was supposed to be Prodigy from top to bottom with the rest of us just there for support. There were contingencies and redundancies..." She trails off. "None of them accounted for Cassie." 

"Or Ross?" Steve ventures. 

"Or Ross," Kate admits. "As of this morning he was still a politely declined  _no_ to this event. He's such a petty bitch, I can't believe he came all that way just to rattle my cage. He was supposed to be in Vienna or Switzerland or something, coming up with legal reasons to experiment on people with superpowers." 

Kate pulls away, peeling off to the kitchen. Coffee. Coffee is required. 

She tunes out, trusting Steve and Bucky to take care of things. The motions of making coffee are just as important as the beverage itself—there's a comfort to measuring out the grounds and the water, clicking all of the pieces together, opening cupboards to find mugs. 

“Kate?” Bucky calls a few minutes later. “Uh. Did…did you grab the wrong bag?” 

“No? I don’t think so?” Kate fills three mugs and carries them out, setting them on the table to peer in the bag. "No, that's right." 

“Kate,” Steve says, sounding like his patience wearing dangerously thin. “Is this bag of—“ 

“Sex toys,” Bucky finishes. “Please don’t tell me I just burned this apartment for a bag of fake dicks.” 

Kate looks—confused by their confusion. “Well, yeah.” 

“Kate,” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kate. What. The. Fuck.” 

“That might be the wrong choice of words,” Bucky mutters. Which is a fair point. 

Kate keeps looking from man to man, her expression getting more and more, well, giddy, probably. 

“You’re serious?” she bounces on her toes, then shoulders between them. “I am officially better spy material than either of you.” She unzips the bag all the way, and, yeah, it is a lot of adult-themed toys. And lube. And boxes of condoms— 

“What were you doing with…such a large number of…” Steve waves his hand over the bag, his neck turning beet red. “I mean, uh…” 

Kate feels the grin spread across her face, slow and smug. 

“Bucky,” she turns to him, voice sharp. “What do you think when you look at this?” 

“I think that I’m worried about what you do in your free time.” 

“Steve?” 

“I think I’d like to zip that back up, why on earth would you need to bring this many vibrators on a trip?” 

“And why they weren’t cleaned after,” Bucky adds. 

“For starters, there’s a lot more than just vibrators in here—“ 

“Yes, I can see that—“ 

“And secondly,” she interrupts Steve’s interruption. “That is exactly the reaction I want everyone to have. Do you want to go digging around in there? No, no you do not.” 

Bucky eyes her suspiciously, plunging his hand into the bag and pulling out a box of condoms. He opens it, runs his fingers over the sealed packets. 

“Are there—are there microchips in here?” 

Kate does not even pretend to not be smug. “All of it’s digital this go-round, but we’ve smuggled out microfilm, tapes, documents—usually we don’t do as much—oh, one time we were worried about TSA and I broke a bottle of duty-free rum in it. People have really low expectations when your reputation is drunk partygirl—“ 

“And the…unwashed look?” Bucky says with the air of someone who isn’t sure he wants the answer. 

“Powdered sugar and water. Nobody looks closely enough to— _what_?” 

The two of them are staring at her with twin looks of disbelief. 

“O-kay then." Kate rests her head in her hands and shoves thoughts of her missing teammates away through sheer force of will. They got what they came here for and then some, that's the important thing. Steve takes her empty coffee mug and drifts toward the kichen. 

"What's the deal with that general?" Bucky combs his metal fingers through Kate's hair, seemingly bored with the bag of intel. "The one who tried to intimidate you?" 

"What?" Steve pulls back from the fridge. "Who tried to intimidate Kate?" 

"Ross. General Thaddeus Ross." Kate bites back a purr as Bucky lightly scratches her skull. 

"Ross?" Steve frowns. "I know that name." 

"Banner. He's the one who was in charge of finding Banner. Which he failed at, spectacularly." 

"Partly because of you, right?" Steve kicks the door of the fridge closed and comes to the table, arms loaded down with food.  

"Which is why he always specifically requested us to rein in Blonsky." Kate accepts a chunk of cheese from Steve. "He said it was because we had superpowers but it wasn't—he hated us. Hates us, present tense. He's the reason Eli--" Kate's voice cuts out. Bucky's fingers continue their comforting scratches. "There was a whole group of them, you know? Tons of scientists obsessed with you, with supersoldier serums. With Vita-Rays. Ross is just the one with the most explosive results."  _Baker's Glen--_  

Steve reaches out and squeezes one of her hands. "So you just pissed him off?" 

"Just? We—I—pissed him off. Repeatedly. Often. We also lodged a formal complaint against him for human experimentation which, of course, the United States would  _never do_." Kate's lips twist in a wry imitation of a smile. "We're the reason he'll never have four stars on those shoulders." 

"That explains a few things." 

"I don't like that he was there tonight." 

"You think he's Hydra?" Steve asks. 

"No. I don't think so. Is he a hop, skip, and a jump away? Maybe. But I don't think—no." 

They're interrupted by a knock on the door.  _Shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits._  

"Prodigy?" 

"Prodigy," Kate nods. 

Steve lets David in, eying him warily. "So what's the Bat Plan?" 

"The Bat Plan is we need to be out of here in five minutes," David looks at his watch, recalculates. "Six." 

"That I didn't realize there was shit going down and just hopped off to a yacht party.  Pietro's already in Monaco corroborating it." Kate answers. 

"Monaco?" 

"Yeah, the story is that I forgot him there after I came back. Heiress Kate sometimes steals yachts and gets all of her friends super drunk and leaves without telling them where she's gone." 

Steve stares. "Fake Kate isn't a nice person." 

"Fake Kate is a stone cold bitch sometimes, but that's because she's got to be. She might also be getting arrested this time?" 

"Nah. You're stealing Stark's boat." David slaps a passport into her hand. "Bruce would be proud of you." 

"Please. Where do you think I got the idea? Don't ever tell him that, though." 

"Bruce? Banner?" Steve asks. 

Kate exchanges a look with David. 

"Wayne," she finally says. "He's—from a different—universe, you know what, it's not important." 

"Long story," David adds. 

"Tell you later," she promises.  

>>>\-----> 

Kate pages through the dossier. The edges are already showing wear from her rifling through it too many times. 

“This kid looks twelve.” 

David sighs, and rolls his eyes, swerving on the road. 

“Futz! Do I need to drive? Pay attention!” 

“He’s not  _that_ young. He’s not a minor, so at least we don’t have to get a permission slip or—Kate, I’m joking.” 

“Look at this,” Kate brandishes the photo at David. “Look at this tiny infant child. We can _not_  drag him into this.” 

“Okay, wow. First of all, let’s remember that this kid is eighteen, and in college. Community college—“ 

“Because he’s helping his mom take care of his sister—“ 

“And that we were younger when we started—“ 

“—we are a  _terrible_ example—“ 

“And that, most importantly,  _he_ got himself involved in this. He’s the one who started digging. I just happened to stumble on to him. And if we can find him, anyone can. We gotta look out for him, Hawkeye. He’s too young to be smart about that. You remember.” 

Kate counts to ten. The problem with having a team is that they know which buttons to push. “Well, I remember not liking adults telling us what to do.” 

“When did we become adults?” 

“I don’t know but I hate it.” Kate presses her face to the cool glass, staring as rocky slopes blur past. “How do we know we can trust him?” 

“We don’t.” 

“That’s comforting.” 

“Says the lady who let herself be kidnapped by the Russian assassin because—“ 

“He didn’t kidnap me, and the assassin part wasn’t his fault.” 

David wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

“I don’t like his name, either. He sounds like he’s in a Schwarzenegger movie.” 

David responds to his by digging in the glove box and dropping a protein bar on her lap. “Nobody wins when you’re hangry, Hawkeye.” 

Kate shoves half of in in her mouth and is still chewing when David starts talking again. 

David hums in assent. “So, you and Steve hear from your assassin boyfriend yet?” 

Kate swallows without chewing, chokes, coughs, and splutters, “ _What_?” 

“Did you think that was a secret?” David cackles. “That's pretty funny. Not quite as funny as Captain America seeing how you transport sensitive information. Man, I wish I’d been there for that.” 

=*= 

“Harley? Harley Keener?” 

“I don’t go by that name any more,” the boy glares at her from behind the screen door. 

“That’s right,” Kate tries to project warmth and trustworthiness. “You changed it recently.” 

“Yeah, uh, my dad gave me that name, and I hate my dad.” 

“Don’t we all?” She sympathizes. 

“Yeah, you recently changed it to Nathaniel Richards. Richards is your mom’s last name, right? Nathaniel your grandfather?” 

Nathaniel stares at David. “I think you’d better go—“ 

“Also known as KangTheConqueror?”Kate tilts her head at him. His eyes widen as he steps back from the door. 

“I don’t—“ 

“I’m Prodigy,” David cuts him off, and the kid’s face goes slack with relief. 

Hopefully it’s relief. 

“You’re Prodigy?” He jerks his head at Kate. “Who’s she?” 

“Hawkeye.” 

“I thought Hawkeye was a dude.” 

“And I thought only coal miners lived in rural Tennessee. I guess we were both wrong.” 

David elbows her side. “Don’t mind her. She’s just cranky because I wouldn’t let her drive.” 

“What was the point of paying for an additional driver if you’re not going to let me drive?” 

“How did you find me?” 

Kate and David exchange a look. 

“I’m  _very_ good at what I do,” David shrugs. “And Kate is good at what she does. It was a nice intersection of our skills.” 

“Uh. Did you guys—did you  _need_ something?” 

David steps forward, as if he’s afraid someone will hear them. “We’re here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.” 

Harley Keener, AKA Nathaniel Richards, AKA KangTheConqueror, grins at them. “Lemme show you my workshop.” 

The “workshop”—and it  _does_ deserve air quotes—is the garage. Clean but disorganized to the untrained eye, various tables dedicated to separate projects, two different computers, and a huge, not-at-all suspicious lump on the couch. 

“Are those hieroglyphics?” 

Nathaniel shrugs. “I like history. I’m taking a few classes at the community college the next town over, and I’ve taken all the STEM ones they offer.” 

"Right. So, you find anything?" David calls from the other side of the garage.

Kate doesn't give the kid a chance to answer, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him. “Where did you get that?” 

She’s staring at one of the computers, windows full of code and a mugshot of very familiar white hair and chiseled cheekbones. 

“Prodigy asked me to help sift through the stuff you guys got from  _a place I don’t need to know about_ ,” he hastens to finish. “I found him.” 

“You found him? You found  _Noh_?” 

“Yeah. That’s the good news.” 

“The bad news?” 

“Everything else.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you have to brief yourself with more writing to get the writing you need to get done finished


	10. Say It Ain't So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate and David have misgivings about robots. Robots have misgivings about aliens. Boyfriends have misgivings about their girlfriend's spotty sense of self-preservation.  
> Look, I really just wanted to give all of you actual new content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK A SHINY NEW CHAPTER  
> um look I had a lot of fun with the first part of this before realize that it didn't mesh as well as it could with the end of the last chapter, so a few things got cut from that last one--stuff just got missed during my mostly nonexistent editing process. It's just the very last section of the last chapter, if you feel so inclined to reread it.  
> (also: proofread? idk her)

“Okay,” Kate stares at Nate. “I’m running on like…zero hours of sleep. I’m going to need you to run that by me again.” 

Nate sighs and rolls his eyes heavenward, which Kate could do without, before he starts speaking again, only this time much, much more slowly. “I managed. To find a—“ 

Kate blinks for what feels like a second but actually turns out to be more when Nate snaps his fingers next to her ear. 

“Are you paying attention?” 

“I’m paying attention, I’m just also  _tired_ , why is this such a difficult concept for you to grasp?” 

“I don’t get tired. I caffeinate.” 

“Okay,  _smart guy_ , caffeine might work except that I haven’t slept in three days.” 

Nate looks like he’s about to make another smartass remark before thinking better of it. “Basically, I found some of the coding that Ultron used on Noh-Varr, so I can see part of what he told him to do.” 

It takes Kate a few seconds to parse out all the  _he_ s but she gets there eventually. “Ultron told Noh to kill me. We knew that.” 

“Yeah, but I’ve got specifics. He’s not just going to assume he killed you. He’s going to check. He’s going to make sure you’re not breathing, and that you don’t have a pulse,” he finishes with an exasperated sigh. “So if you’re going to play dead, you’d better be one hell of an actress.” 

“ _You’d_ better be one hell of an actress,” is Kate’s belligerent retort.  

David stares at her. “Do you need to go wait in the car?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. Nate doesn’t—“ 

“Kang.” 

“What?” 

“Kang. Call me Kang.” 

“That is absolutely not going to happen,” David informs him.  

Nate rolls his eyes but accepts this pronouncement for the moment. “It has to  _look_  like permadeath,” he backtracks the conversation. 

“Okay, wow, well, I just want to say that that fact that you used a video game term to speak about actual real world death in  _real life_  does not make me feel better. We can’t restart the game. I will  _actually die_.” 

“I’m aware of that.” There’s a  _no shit_ in there, somewhere, Kate can see it in Nate’s eyes.  

She does not appreciate it. "Do you have a dead body on that couch?" 

"What?" 

Kate ignores Nate, moving to the middle of the garage where a large blanket covered mass sits. Large and vaguely body-shaped.  

"Don’t touch it!" Nate says, just as Kate snaps the blanket off.  

"What the  _hell_ ," David swears. 

"Is this an Iron Man suit? Did you steal an Iron Man suit?" 

"I didn't steal  _anything_ ," Nate snaps, rushing over and ripping the blanket out of her hands. "Tony gave him to me." 

"Gave?" David echoes. 

" _Tony_?" Is what Kate catches on.  

Maybe it's her exhaustion, but Kate would swear the suit turns its head. 

"Hello," a voice comes from the suit.  

Kate and David both scream and grab for each other. 

"My name is JONAS." 

" _What_." 

"My name is JONAS." 

"Excuse me?" David walks over in the slow tread of a man who has seen  _I, Robot_ more times than probably wise. He still has her arm in a vice grip, and drags her along with him. She can practically hear him thinking  _robots tried to murder my boyfriend._  

"My name," the suit pauses. What's that accent? "Is JONAS." It tilts his head at the pair of them, looking between Kate and David. "Do you prefer Katharine, or Kate?" 

"Mother of god." 

"No," JONAS states. "I currently think of myself in masculine terms." 

Nate shoulders between them. "He's not good with humor yet." 

"Yes, I am," JONAS protests. "I was continuing the joke--" 

"Not. Now. Jonas." Nate shuffles his feet, looking very much as young as he is. "He's an AI. Based off of my brainwaves. He's not dangerous!" 

This is when Kate realizes she has a knife in her hand. Self-preservation is coming a little easier these days. After a moment's hesitation, she holsters the knife, shrugging a shoulder at David. He responds with a small head shake. They're both wondering, thinking about Vision and if it's possible that JONAS is really...real. 

Or, you know. Actually a murderous psychopathic metallic asshole. They've dealt with more of those than the not-asshole kind. 

"He's based off of my brainwaves," Nate repeats. "But I got stuff from when Ultron cracked Stark Industries open, and some coding from all over--" 

" _Ultron_?" David's voice cracks. 

Kate's hand goes back to her knife, little good it may do her.  

"There's some JARVIS in there," he defends himself. "Just a little of Ultron. It was hard to pick out the pieces."  

Well, it’s good to know what Nathaniel looks like when he lies. She’ll let him have it; she and David  _did_ show up unannounced at his home. Some lies are to be expected. It's just unfortunate that some of them happen to be about megalomaniacal robots. 

"My name is JONAS, and I am," JONAS interrupts. "A patchwork. I do not agree with Ultron's actions." 

"Riiight," Kate draws the word out. She thinks he's looking at her, but he doesn't really have pupils, so-- 

"My name is Jonas," he repeats. "My name. Is Jonas. Pour yourself. Some tea." 

"What?" 

"Just like grandma made." 

"What the everloving fuck?" Kate stares at JONAS, who stares back, because he's a robot that doesn't actually blink. 

"The workers are going home." 

"Is he insane?" David asks Nate. 

"My name is Jonas." 

David grabs her by the elbow, dragging her a few feet away. "Kate, I think that robot is screwing with us." 

JONAS tilts his head again before he starts laughing, a grating mechanical sound. "I really had you going!" 

"Is there—is there a person in there?" Kate asks, moving back over to peer into the suit's eyes. 

"Yes," the suit says. "My name is Jonas. I am a person in a metal suit the same way humans are souls in suits made of skin." 

"It might be that I'm really tired but my  _god_ that was creepy as all hell." Kate shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. 

"Should we be doing the Turing Test?" 

"What? What is that? No. We're not here for Jonas—no offence, Jonas," Kate says as an aside. "Does Jonas stand for something, like J-O-N-A-S, or is it a name?" 

"It is my name. I chose it. I'm a fan of Weezer." 

"See? There you go, David. Turing Test passed. No robot would say that." 

"I'm also a fan of Flight of the Conchords." 

"Oh, see, that is something a robot would say. Now I'm not so sure." 

"Why would a robot say that?" David stares at her with that look people get when she's not making sense, or talking about falling off of a five story building. 

"Because they have a song sung from a robotic perspective about humans being dead," Jonas answers.  _Indian_ , Kate decides. That's his accent. "Would you like to hear my Siri impression?" 

"Oh my god,  _so much_ , but we actually have stuff to do. Like rescue a captive alien." 

"I could help with that." 

Kat chances a glance to Nate.  "Ca—can he?" Not asking so much is he  _allowed_ as  _is he able_. 

"Sure," Nate waves his hand. "It's always good to have an extra set of eyes, right?" 

=*= 

“Kate,” David calls over to where she is trying to figure out Nate's microwave. He's...improved it? “I’ve got him. Noh. Jonas and I backtracked from Ultron using the backdoors I set up in the Sokovian--” 

“— _thing I do not want to know about_ ,” Kate cuts him off. “Plausible deniability, David. Please.” 

“You’re no fun.” 

“How many years are we going to be spending in prison, again?” 

“You’re no fun,” he insists. 

Jonas' head has been swiveling from Kate to David during the while exchange with a perplexed expression. Or as much of a perplexed expression as a former member of the Iron Legion can manage. 

“Go on,” Kate finally prompts. 

“Well, so. The good news is he’s on US soil!” 

Kate stares at David because that is not a tone of voice she trusts  _at all_.  

“The bad news is the government has him. Again. And it’s Hydra-slash-CIA.” There is a large pause. “And he’s being kept where he landed!” 

“Shit,” Kates says. 

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Nate mutters. "Wait, he  _landed_ there? What do you mean?" 

"He crash-landed on Earth in the forties," Kate scrubs her fist over her eyes. "Roswell." 

"Area  _51_?" Nate doesn't shriek, not quite, but it's close. "That—that was  _him?"_  

"What is it with you and dudes from the forties?" David asks Kate, like he's finally piecing something together. 

"Uh, what?" 

Jonas interrupts their conversation with a loud guffaw. He apologizes when the three of them stare at him. "I have just viewed all of the cat memes currently in existence. I enjoy them." 

"Sorry, how old is he?" Kate turns to Nate. 

"Uh, about three weeks?" 

"And he's only just now getting to cat memes?" 

"I told him he had to finish his homework," Nate says, almost sulky.  

"I like cats," Jonas declares. "I want a cat." 

"No. Absolutely not." Nate shakes his head. "We can't keep a cat in here." 

"But I want one." 

"You don't have a job. How are you going to feed it?" 

"I have a job." 

"Really? What is it?" 

If a robot could look uncomfortable, this one would. His expression can't change, but the discomfort is coming off of him in waves. "I," he begins, then stops. "I am. I--" his eyes dim for a moment, then brighten again. "I am getting paid to write papers for college students!" 

"Did he just do that just now," the words rush out of David, a monotone under his breath.  

"I think so?" Kate watches the argument unfolding in front of them. "We should come up with a plan while they have this father-son debate." 

Jonas and Nate get pushed to background noise as she and David sit shoulder to shoulder, looking at maps and schematics and schedules and a lot of things they'd get in a lot of trouble for having.  

"I think we're going to have to break in," David declares. 

Kate remembers the last time she broke in to a government facility. It hadn't gone poorly, not really, but it hadn't really gone well, either. She's not eager to have to sift through who might be Hydra here and who isn't.  

 _You got a boyfriend out of it_ a voice in her head reminds her.  

"Do you think we could draw him out?" Kate pulls the map of the southwest back over to her. "Pulling him into our turf seems better than strolling onto his." 

"How are we going to do that?" 

"Well, he already wants to kill me. Maybe if his handlers know where I'm going to be and when I'm going to be there..." She trails off, unsure.  

"Like with Cassie," David finishes. "Maybe? I don't know how strong his kill order imperative is. It can't be that strong, or he'd already have tried, right?" 

"Proximity." 

Kate and David turn to Jonas.  

"Come again?" David asks. 

"Proximity. He's not going to travel across the country to get to you, but if you are in proximity, it increases his likelihood of evading recapture for enough time to kill you." 

"You okay?" David reaches over and squeezes her hand.  

She swallows hard before answering. "When did I become interesting enough to try and kill?" 

"Um. You're a  _spy_?" 

"Not anymore!" 

"That makes it worse. Who knows what government you're selling secrets to?" 

"Exactly how much  _Homeland_ have you been watching, David?" 

"None. Sam cut me off." 

“Okay,” Kate rubs her forehead, taking the time to re-center and re-focus. “We have a genetically modified alien with nanotechnology who wants to kill me. The obvious plan is for me to go in as bait and hope that we can hack him before he does.” 

"And when you say  _hack_ ," David prompts. 

"I mean hitting him in the head a bunch of times. It worked for Bucky and it worked for Clint." 

"Your plan," David squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back. "Oh, God. Your plan is to hit an  _genetically modified alien_ a bunch of times in the head in the hopes that you concuss him before he kills you?" 

"Well, I wouldn't say  _in the hopes that_ , it just makes the whole thing sound stupid. What? It's a solid plan!" 

 _What the fuck_ could not be more clearly written on David's face. "That isn't a plan, that's  _lunacy_." 

"The chances of that plan failing hover at around seventy-five percent," Jonas adds, walking over to them with more grace that you'd expect from a hunk of metal.  

"Thank you!" David claps his hand on the android's shoulder, apparently forgoing his typical anti-robot sentiment in favor of an ally.  

"That's still a twenty-five percent chance of success." 

"Well, there's a ten percent chance you wind up alive but comatose, a ten percent chance that you are alive and then die weeks later from your injuries, and a five percent chance of success." 

"Five isn't zero." 

"While technically correct, I do not believe that is what your friend meant," Jonas says.  

"We could help," Nate says. "That's why you're here, isn't it? If me and Jonas try and hack him while he's trying to kill you, what's that do to the success rate? Up to seventy-five percent success, right?" 

"Seventy-five point four," Jonas admits. 

"And I'd help with that, too," David agrees with a nod. "Three people against his nanotech while you distract him." 

Kate glances at Nate. "You said Ultron's command was pretty through in making sure I'm actually dead. What happens to Noh, programming-wise, if I die?" 

"Nothing, as far as I can tell." Nate pulls up a screen full of repeating numbers that means nothing to Kate. "I think he just...stands there until his handlers get to him. He might even come out of it, I'm not for sure what some of these commands actually mean." 

"Come out of it?" 

"Yeah, probably so he can feel really bad about killing you before he gets captured and brainwashed again." 

"So we're back to you dying." David sighs. "Man, the one time we really need Banner." 

It takes Kate longer than it probably should for her to realize what David's saying, but when she does she can't help but smile. "I might have a workaround for that." 

>>>\----> 

Kate takes Steve's elbow, steering him around the gallery. Occasionally, they'll stop in front of one of his pieces and he'll pretend to explain it to her, when he's actually telling her dumb jokes. 

It brings Kate no small amount of delight to know that it only takes a two-week beard to render Steve completely unrecognizable as Steve Rogers.  

She could get used to it. 

Not that he doesn't draw attention, though. He's still  _him_ , still very Large and Attractive, but he isn't drawing more attention that she is, which is the goal. She's still Reckless Heiress Kate Bishop, Stealer of Stark Yachts, and her social media accounts are all very clear on where she's going to be for the next few days. She's hopeful Noh will make an appearance tonight—Nate is keeping tabs on security protocols on the base as best he can, but Noh is an advanced alien, so they're not really sure how effective that precaution will be. 

As it turns out, the answer to that is "not very." 

=*= 

Noh is only here for her which gives Steve plenty of time to evacuate civilians from the art gallery.  It's a gallery, full of open spaces and soaring ceilings, which is great because it means there's no place for him to hide, but...well, there's  _no place to hide_.  

Not that climbing out of his reach would be effective, but still, it might have delayed Noh stalking her across the floor, reaching her, and attempting to kill her.  

Noh slams her against the wall, his hand tightening around her throat. Kate pushes at him, struggling because she's supposed to, because no amount of planning can stop instinct. Sam charges him from the side and gets batted away.  

“Noh, come on,” the words are barely audible as she struggles against him.  

Sam sprawls on the floor, the syringe that he was going to use to inject her three feet from his hand—Kate can see a needle sticking out of her arm, broken off.  

Oh, bad. Bad, bad, bad.  _Hack faster, guys, come on--_  

She gets one of her legs between them, fighting for real now, shoving her knee against Noh's sternum, fruitlessly digging her fingernails into his hands. 

She fights back the instinct to keep trying to pull him off of her and instead moves her hands to her leg, to the batons carefully obscured by her jacket. She fumbles, loses one, but still manages to go back to her initial plan, cracking Noh in the head hard enough that his grip loosens for just a second. 

It's just a second, though. His hands are back, squeezing, when someone else hits him. 

Her vision starts blacking out around the edges.  

Steve? Was it Steve? 

Noh won't let go of her. 

 _That was the job, right?_  

“ _Noh_!” She struggles against him in earnest. “Noh, come on! It’s me—“ 

They're rolling on the floor,  and Kate can't see anyone but him in her limited field of vision. He drags her close, close enough she can feel his breath on her skin. "I know it's you," he says. "That's the  _point_ , Hawkeye." 

Now Kate can't breathe for two entirely different reasons.  

His hand squeezes harder, slamming her back into the tile floor and she sees spots. 

Sam is moving, but slowly. 

Kate’s lungs burn, her throat aches, her limbs are heavy—she can’t move her legs.  

He’s going to kill her. He’s going to actually kill her.  

Noh slams her head against the floor one final time and everything goes black. 

=*= 

Kate comes to, and it’s very exciting. 

That is, she’s alive, which is not what she was expecting. 

She can see Sam out of the corner of her eye. “I gave you a shot of adrenalin,” he says. “I need you to stay put—“ 

“I’m not dead, that’s great!” She says. 

Or attempts to. 

It comes out more as a garbled whine. 

“You’re going to want to avoid talking for a few days,” Sam informs her. “Can you wiggle your fingers for me? Great. Your toes? Awesome. Can you tell me your name?” 

Kate rasps a deep breath in before attempting to say, “Hawkeye.” 

He shines a light in her eyes. “And can you tell me what day it is?” 

Uh, no, Sam. No she can’t. Kate doesn’t keep track of things like— 

“She never knows what day it is,” says a familiar voice that isn’t supposed to be here, not even a little.  

 _Shit_. 

“Push my hands,” Sam says, drawing her attention back to him. “Great. Pull? Thank you.” 

"My head hurts," she manages after a few seconds. 

"Your  _head_ ," says the voice that's not supposed to be here, sounding low and dangerous. "It's not like you keep anything important in there." 

"Ease up, Barnes," Sam tells him, pulling his gloves off. "She nearly died." 

“Nearly dead,” Kate manages to croak out. “Still partially alive.” 

Sam flashes her a smile. "Next time, though, we need to make sure you don't have any weird reactions to untested drugs. You should have gone down a lot sooner than that." 

Kate hums something that could be considered an apology as Bucky slides his metal hand under her head, the cold soothing the goose-egg she can feel growing. There's the sound of a small scuffle and then Noh looms over her, panic all over his features.  

"Kate, I am  _so sorry_ —I didn't—I couldn't stop what I was doing--" 

Kate doesn't think she can manage any more partial sentences, so she reaches up, booping Noh's nose. "Plan," she informs him. 

"We knew that, that's why the plan was to make you think you'd killed her," David explains. And then, because having a best friend who can basically read your mind is sometimes the best thing ever, he voices what she's thinking. "Maybe we could get the hell out of here and have this conversation in a place that isn't quite so...public?" 

=*= 

“Kate, I’m sorry,” is the first thing Noh says when he sees Kate at the Bradleys.  

Talking is still hard, but slightly less so, so she can manage full sentences. “You were brainwashed.” 

“No, not for that—“ this earns Noh a few homicidal looks, so he hastens to add, “well, for sure, that, but what happened in LA—“ 

She would laugh except that laughing sounds painful. “Noh, I wasn’t exactly the picture of mental health in LA. I could have handled that a lot better.” 

“I could have, as well.” 

Kate extend her hand to him, and Noh gives it a firm shake.  

Kate’s proud that she doesn’t shudder when his hand closes over hers. Knowing that Noh wasn’t in control doesn’t stop her from remembering that hand squeezing her throat. 

"If I'd been honest, maybe this wouldn't have happened." He says. 

"And maybe it still would have." Maybe it's all that Banner Calm-Down Drug still in her system, but the betrayal doesn't sting so much right now. "Nobody deserves what they did to you. You would have done the same for me." 

He's going to argue that point with her, it's written all over his face. Denial and insistence that he's a bad person, and Kate doesn’t have the energy to fight him right now. They'll have to have a real discussion about it sooner rather than later, but when the words  _you owe us_ aren't so heavy on her tongue.  

He doesn't owe them for this, though. She meant it: any decent person would have done the same. 

=*= 

The sound of fists striking a heavy bag fills the air of the Bradley’s converted barn. Kate makes enough noise—shuffling her feet, slamming the door—that she  _knows_ Bucky is aware she’s here.  

He doesn’t acknowledge her.  

“Hey,” she says once it becomes clear that he isn’t planning on doing so anytime soon. "Seen any vintage supersoldiers hanging around?" 

No response. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re mad, or am I supposed to guess?” She hopes he'll just tell her; talking hurts like hell.  

“If you have to  _guess_  about why I’m upset—“ 

"How was I supposed to tell you the plan? You burned your last burner phone and didn't give us a new number." 

Bucky punches the bag a few more times. Kate’s just about given it up for lost when he finally grits out, “You didn’t say goodbye.” 

Kate doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that. 

“You could have died, and you didn’t say goodbye.” 

“I wasn’t going to die.” 

Bucky finally stops hitting the bag to stare at her, wide-eyed. “Are you being serious? Isn’t that what you and your team do? You always assume—“ 

“That death is possible. We don’t assume it’s going to happen. We just make sure we don’t have any unfinished business with each other.” 

“With each other,” Bucky echoes. “Not with me?” 

“I wasn’t going to die.” 

“You don’t know that!” Bucky yanks a hand through his hair, tugging at the short strands. “You could have died and you didn’t—you didn’t say goodbye, or ask for help—“ 

“We did ask for help. We had it under control.” 

“You almost dying isn’t  _under control_!” He realizes he’s shouting and takes a few deep breaths. He's shaking like a leaf, trembling from head to toe. He breathes deep a few more times. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you." 

Oh.  _Oh._  

She opens her mouth… 

…and nothing comes out. 

Kate tries again, only this time her knees give out. Bucky catches her elbow and lowers her slowly to the floor. “Kate? Kate, you okay?” 

“Noh tried to kill me today,” she says, her ears buzzing. 

“Yeah, I was there for that.” Bucky pulls them so they’re sitting with their backs to the wall, his arm over her shoulders. Everything goes fuzzy for a few minutes—the air in her lungs seems thick and cottony, her pulse pounds in her ears and her heart beats too fast. 

She knows it’s quiet in the Bradley’s gym, but it’s so loud in her head. Bucky is saying something to her that she can’t make out, but his voice is low and soothing.  

Eventually she can make out her own labored breathing.  

“That wasn’t what I wanted to say,” Kate interrupts Bucky. “Like. Goddamn it. That wasn’t what I wanted to say.” 

“What wasn’t?”  

 _C’mon, Hawkeye_ , Kate tells herself.  _Noh tried to kill you today. This is not even close to the scariest thing that you’re going to do_. 

She still can't say it. 

The door creaks again, and eventually Steve is on her other side. She'd let her head roll to his shoulder if her neck didn't hurt so much.  

"So," Steve says. "Do we think the three of us could manage staying away from potentially deadly situation for...a month?" 

"Don't push it, Stevie." 

Kate laughs, and instantly regrets it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE BEEN BUILDING UP TO THE WEEZER REFERENCE FOR SO LONG AND SO MUCH HAS CHANGED WITH HOW JONAS CAME ABOUT BUT THE REFERENCE REMAINED A CONSTANT and I would apologize for being lame but I think we're all very aware of the fact that I think it's hilarious and that i'm not sorry at all, so why lie?  
> anyway I love you all, you're amazing. thank you for sticking with me.


	11. Tesselate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is, indeed, more than one way to solve a problem, but also, if it's not broke, don't fix it.   
> Noh is full of fixes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't...how you say...edited...because we are swift approaching the endgame and I am very eager to get there. We're so close to Civil War I can taste it  
> also there's some...I don't want to call it inappropriate kissing, but perhaps more "questionable kissing under weird circumstances" and it's not meant to be romantic or sexual. it is, quite literally, kissing for scientific purposes.

Kate doesn’t expect anything to happen in the desert, but also...she does. Sometimes it feels like she's been working her whole life to get to this state of nonexpectant expectancy.

She had to drive to get here, and then she had to walk in order to get to an actual deserted part of the desert. The Bradleys may live in a desiccated wasteland of a state, but they live in a nice part of it, and the itch in the back of Kate's head told her to leave civilization.

She's not stupid, though. She has a flare gun and two giant boyfriend-types and one magic friend type waiting in the car should she need them. Nobody trusts insistent little suggestions in the back of the head, particularly Billy. 

But still, here she is. Alone, in the desert, both expecting and not expecting to be bitten, poisoned, stabbed, mauled, or generally killed. 

Its stands to reason that the rust-colored coyote loping to her is both the thing she did and did not expect. 

The coyote regards her in the dimming light, head tilted to the side. There is something intelligent in its eyes, something familiar in the angle of the sharply pointed snout and in the large ears.

Kate stares at the coyote with the same intensity it is showing her before sighing. “Loki, we talked about this. It’s disrespectful, and it makes me want to punch you.”

In less time than it takes to blink, Loki is sitting in front of her, legs crossed and a sulky look on his face. “Coyotes are Tricksters.”

“And we’ve talked about you thinking you’re everyone’s Trickster.”

They glare at each other for a moment before Loki’s shoulders sag. “I’m sorry.”

Kate lets his apology hang in the air for a moment before she moves to sit next to him with a sigh. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“I got bored.”

“Of?”

“Pretending to be dead.”

“Ah. Well, that makes sense.”

The silence and the desert-night chill creep in at about the same rate. Wordlessly, Loki conjures up a bulky cable-knit sweater and drapes it around Kate's shoulders. 

"Thanks," she says, only a little grudging. "So, what did you want to see me for? I'm assuming it was you with the irritating itch in the back of my brain?"

"I can't just check up on an old friend?" 

Loki throws his hands up in mock-surrender when her answer is a glare. "All right, I heard you lot found Noh and that he tried to kill you."

"How on  _earth_ did you hear that? It just happened! Literally! Less than twelve hours ago!"

"I  _am_ a god."

"Gross." 

"Well I  _am_ ," he says, sounding for all the world like a petulant twelve-year-old Kate remembers very well. A very obnoxious, petulant, annoying, sad,  _annoying_  twelve-year-old—no twelve-year-old should be able to look that sad!!!--that she used to eat in space diners with. She remembers taking a slice of bacon and some strawberries so that his pancakes smiled at him. How are you supposed to take someone seriously as a deity after that?

She does  _not_ get misty-eyed, thanks very much, but just to make sure Loki doesn't see anything dumb like  _sentiment_ Kate slaps a flashlight into his palm, bares her neck to the beam of light so he can see the redblackblue bruises that ring her throat. 

Loki says something in eldritch Norse and Kate bites down on her fear. It doesn't seem to be a curse-curse, more a swear-curse.

"Does it hurt?"

"Well, it's tender, but there's not, like, excruciating pain with it. Noh definitely isn't allowed to touch me at all right now..." Kate trails off. "But I know you didn't call me to the desert to talk about my near-death experience. What's going on?"

Loki stares up at the sky, silent. Not making eye contact. It's hard to tell but his face might be getting red and his eyes are suspiciously wet and--

"Oh my god. You were  _worried_ about me?"

>>>\--->

Loki is not the only unusual person who does not appreciate someone trying to kill Kate.

Kate discovers this upon returning to New York. After dropping Steve and Bucky off at her apartment—considerably fewer people ogling her place than Steve's—she's summoned to Avengers Tower.

Where she is confronted by a metallic monstrosity splashed in purple. 

"Absolutely not."

"Do you like it? You like it," Tony decides, bouncing on the balls of his feet, bursting with manic energy. "I had Friday make her purple just for you--"

"Tony, no. I'm not wearing that. You're Iron Man, not me."

"You'd be—Iron Arrow. My sidekick!" He sees Kate's glare before hastily amending that to, "Or my right-hand woman!"

"I appreciate the gesture, Tony, don't get me wrong--"

"Is the purple wrong? The wrong shade? I can change it--"

" _No_ ," Kate says, loud and firm and enough to stop Tony's babbling. "Tony, I appreciate the gesture, which is, by the way,  _completely_ unprecedented, but I'm not wearing it, or taking it, or—or anything. I can't have a big clanky metal suit. How am I supposed to shoot things?"

She's said the wrong thing. She doesn’t know which part is the wrong part, but Tony looks hurt. A second later, the hurt disappears as Tony shutters away his emotions, turning to a workstation to tinker with something while completely avoiding making eye contact. 

"That's fine," he says in the tone of a man who is not fine. "Yeah, sure. Go on. Go get strangled or whatever it is you do on your own."

"Are you—are you concerned about my physical well-being? Really? This from the man who taught me how to drive stick in a hot rod--"

"I didn't teach you how to drive stick," Tony wheels around to wave a screwdriver in her face. "I taught you how to  _drive_."

"And looking back you were almost certainly  _hammered_ when you taught me to drive!"

"Oh, please. SHIELD didn't make you take driving lessons before then?"

"You didn't know that!"

"Well, maybe I'm trying to make up for it!" Tony looks shocked by his own words, which is nothing compared to how Kate feels. "Katie, your mom was always good to me. She looked out for me. Checked in on me, sent me care packages when I was at school. When she died—I told myself I'd look out for you and Sue like your mom did for me. Didn't do a great job." He blinks hard, working his jaw back and forth. "I'm trying to do better."

Kate opens her mouth to argue against this, against the fact that Tony apparently elected himself Big Brother Bishop while nobody was looking--

But. Well. It would explain the birthday cards, and all those times she got arrested to keep up the pretense of being a Monster and her bail was always posted, and--

"Tony, have you been breaking into my parking and working on my car?"

He has the decency to look chagrined. "Well, yeah."

"I guess that explains why I never needed an oil change," Kate says faintly, her head buzzing. 

Tony nods and shrugs, as if admitting to stealing her car and doing preventative maintenance on it for years on the sly is somehow  _no big thing_.

"Don't make it weird," he says, seeing something in her expression that clearly says  _is about to make it weird_. "I do the same thing for Sue, only she figured it out three years ago."

Kate sits on the workbench with a thump, sending it rocking. Susan is not supposed to be more observant than Kate. Susan is not supposed to be in contact with  _superheroes,_ there's a  _reason_ Kate doesn't let people know she's Hawkeye.

"You know, you two should talk more. She misses you."

Kate slides down the bench until she's laying on it, completely over this day. Tony prods her with the pointy end of the screwdriver. "Hey. Hey, Katie. Let's all plan to go to dinner sometime this week. You can tell your sister you're dating Captain America. You are dating him, right? Or is it a friends-with-benefits situation, because if it is I don't think I want--"

"Go away, Tony."

"You know you're in my lab, right?"

She grunts.

"Okay, well, you take a nap, and I'll work on some non-clanky, non-metal armor for you." Tony's knees creak as he crouches down next to her, and something that feels suspiciously like a kiss to her forehead happens. "I'm glad you didn't die."

She wakes up when Tony sets a cup of coffee in front of her nose and presents her with a new set of body armor.

The coffee, frankly, is the better of the two.

>>>\------>

It's a week or two before Kate feels okay to go to the Avengers compound, calling a team meeting. Her bruises have faded to a sickly yellow-green, and every scarf she has put on to hide this fact has been removed and hidden by Bucky.

She's pretty sure it's because he wants Noh to see what he did and feel bad about it, and while Kate doesn't appreciate being used as a human message board, she can't say that if roles were reversed she wouldn't be doing the same.

So, anyway, Kate's efforts at tact are stymied, which is probably why America takes one look at Kate's throat and punches Noh right in the face.

"You know," Kate says, mild as she can manage, once an ice pack has been procured, and applied to Noh's blooming shiner, "I don't know why everyone else thinks they have the right to punch Noh for this when I haven't."

"I figured you were just going to shoot me from a distance," Noh offers.

"Don't be stupid," she snaps. "You were brainwashed."

That shuts everybody up pretty quick. 

"Speaking of," David jumps in. "Guys, this is Nate and Jonas."

"Call me Kang," Nate says.

"Oh,  _hell_  no." America crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the kid. "That's never going to happen."

"Wait," Billy frowns. "The robot's name is Jonas?"

"I am an artificial intelligence, actually," Jonas offers. "I like your hair, William."

Billy blushes as he stammers his thanks and Kate has to swallow a laugh. No better compliment. 

"They helped hack Noh, and they've been helping David try and figure out where Cassie is being held and what happened to her, what's going on with her," Kate explains. "So far--getting her back and getting her un-brainwashed is going to be a team effort. 

"I'm not going to be on a team with him." Teddy jerks his chin towards Noh.

"Probably wise," Noh answers, which isn't helpful in the least.

"No. All of you shut up. We're going to work together for Cassie. I honestly don't give a shit about anyone's personal feelings at this point, because it's not about us. Hate each other all you like, but we're going to work together." 

Noh turns to Kate, probably to mention that he doesn’t have any connection to Cassie, and Kate holds up her hand to stop him. "You're helping because you tried to kill me."

"Ah. Fair."

"So. First things fi--"

"What's going on with Speed?" Noh interrupts, herking his chin towards the hospital room. Strictly speaking, the medical wing isn't supposed to be used for team meetings, but it feels weird to leave Tommy out of things, even now. 

"He's in a coma," Eli informs Noh, glaring at him. Eli hadn't been part of the team when they'd first encountered Noh, but he'd heard enough second-hand. Not to mention that everyone feels very entitled to anger-on-Kate's-behalf about Noh attempting to kill her. She appreciates it, sort of, but like. Nobody is  _asking_ her if it's okay to be mad.

Noh looks like he's about to say something before very clearly deciding that anything he attempts to say will be the wrong thing and instead stands and walks out of the room. It's not until they see him walk into Tommy's room that the rest of the team scrambles to their feet.

There's uncertainty in the rush—what's Noh going to do? Surely he won't try to kill Tommy, that wouldn't make any sense. They expect it, though, just a little. Expect his hands to wrap around Tommy's throat and squeeze. Kate has trouble breathing and thinks maybe it's just her.

None of them are prepared for Noh leaning down over Tommy and planting a kiss right on his lips. 

 _Mind control saliva_ , Kate remembers, right after she thinks  _what the fuck_. She maneuvers her body to cut off Billy's charge at Noh. It might be worth it, right? If it doesn't work, no harm done--

Tommy bolts upright with a gasp, falling off of his bed and shoving Noh halfway across the room in one motion. "What the hell? Noh-Varr, what are you doing here?" His eyes dart around the room, taking in everyone's stunned faces. "Eli? What are you doing here? Who are these guys?  _America?_  Wait—am I in a hospital? What's going on?"

Billy throws himself at his brother with a strangled cry, wrapping him up in a hug. Tommy pats the back of Billy's head, still confused and clearly uncomfortable. "Hey, dude, it's fine, I'm okay. Don't make a big deal out of it. What happened?"

=*=

None of them have ever seen Tommy winded before, and it's really weird. It's to be expected, what with the muscle atrophy and all, but Tommy isn't buying it. He still doesn’t get that he was out for a year, or that his uncle has been pretending to be him. Or that everyone is still pissed at Noh, just for different reasons. 

He takes a lap around the compound and stops in front of them, hands braced on his knees, panting.  

"This sucks," he says after he finally catches his breath. 

The concept of rescuing Cassie is the only thing he's latched on to with any conviction, if only because it's the only thing from before he was in the coma that's relatively the same. 

When they go to talk about a rescue plan, they're in the real conference room now. They need it; there's so  _many_ of them now.

=*=

They've decided on a few things. First, Kate's probably going to wind up as bait again. Second, Noh's ability to Sleeping Beauty/Prince Charming people has come as a surprise, albeit a useful one. Getting Cassie back—or at least, getting her to a place where she isn't a mindless, brainwashed assassin is no longer a distant possibility but a tangible reality. This reality is a little terrifying. Kate can see this working, can see them get Cassie back, and it's terrifying. 

She's never felt so well prepared. They have the intel, and they have manpower and backup coming out of their ears. Even the fact that Cassie is probably going to try to kill her isn't worrisome because it's not like it hasn't happened before. 

There's no way they can fail.

The certainty makes Kate want to vomit.

=*=

Kate's apartment has never felt small before now.

Maybe it's just that Steve and Bucky are so  _big_ , and that they've never all been in the same space at the same time for so long. They're all three restless, but every time Kate decides she's going to suggest they get out of town, they go find a Hydra base or a terrorist cell, the words lodge in her throat because somehow, she knows that's not the right suggestion, but that they'll take it because she's the one giving it. 

It takes her a stupidly long time to figure it out, to register the way Steve crowds her space in the kitchen and picks her up and bodily moves her out of his path isn't just normal Steve-is-worried-about-Kate's-safety, it's Steve-does-not-know-how-to-talk-about-sex.

Obviously, them sharing a bed with Bucky was going to have some consequences. Kate just hadn't been thinking about them at the time, she'd been thinking more  _near death_ _experience let me be surrounded by Strong People that I love_ and had failed to remember that the last few times either she or Steve had a rough mission it wound up with—well, not a _lot_  of sex, but certainly an above average amount. 

Kate doesn't know what to do with this revelation. She  _really_ doesn't know what to do with it while also dealing with the fact that it's summer and Bucky is spending most of his time walking around without a shirt on. Kate feels like she's crawling out of her skin with how much she wants to touch him.

She kisses them both goodnight, in the bed they share, and she makes sure Bucky's kiss isn't anything sneaky, no open mouthed nonsense, no gently sucking on his lower lip or trying to coax a response out of him—not until he asks.

There's something impatient in Steve tonight, though. Something under his skin that's tightly coiled and ready to snap. It's in the way he sighs, the way he pulls her body closer to his and flickers his tongue against the seam of her lips.

Everything else falls away.

In the back of Kate's head, she knows this isn't the greatest idea, there's a reason they've been  _not_ doing this. But Steve's mouth is on hers, his teeth against her lower lip and her fingers are threaded through his soft hair and tugging because he makes the best noises when she does that.

She's still trying to sift through her thoughts to figure out why it's taken them so long to get to this point when a hand slides under her shirt, running down the scar on her back. 

Which is strange because both of Steve's hands are accounted for—one on her hip, the other cradling her head—but it's  _nice_  and she knows the hand, so it's not really a problem--

"Finally," Bucky breathes in her ear. "Are we doing this? Or are just the two of you doing this?"

Kate pulls away from Steve to more fully voice her disbelief. "What? You're emotionally ready for--"

Steve's hand joins Bucky's under her shirt, and Kate's jaw goes momentarily unhinged. "We weren't—I wasn't sure you were ready."

"Doll. Why did you think I'd been wandering around without a shirt all week?"

"It's a hundred degrees out, James!" She snaps. "If I didn't have to go out I'd be going shirtless, too!"

"Great," Bucky nibbles his way up her neck. "Let's do that."

"We didn't want you to feel pressured," Steve says over her shoulder, like he wasn't the one who went from chaste bedtime kiss to panicked makeout session.

"Considerate of you."

There are hands on Kate's hips and she finds herself facing Bucky. The motion is smooth, almost practiced, and Kate realizes she never asked if they've done this before. She's about to ask when the rest of the question coalesces into  _have you ever done this before—shared a woman? a_ nd the second part of the question feels gross even in her head. If she's honest with herself, she doesn’t care about the answer to the question that much, anyway. 

"Hey, doll." Bucky gives her a slow, melty smile as he hitches her knee over his hip. "Come here often?"

Behind her, Steve muffles his laugh against her shoulder. 

She'll berate him for the bad joke. Later.

Much, much later.

=*=

There are hands at Kate's neck, on her hips. They move to her arms; the ones on her hips move to her neck. 

There's something proprietary in the motions, but honestly...she doesn't care. Steve and Bucky are checking her new suit, her arm guards, her neck—though that's mostly because of the recent strangulation attempt. She's hoping tonight won't go two for two on brainwashed former teammates trying to kill her.

The suit is Tony's latest attempt at trying to alleviate his own worry and also honor Kate's requirements for body armor. It's shades of purple, at her insistence, and it's just the right amount of tight and stiff to make Kate feel protected and flexible enough that she'll be able to move with ease. It will only protect her from some ammo, a point proven when Tony had shot a RPG at the last mockup and it had, naturally, been blown to bits. She hadn't the heart to tell him that when people are shooting at her with RPGs, body armor is the last thing she's worried about. 

"Verdict?"

"You're good," Bucky tells her, warm fingers trailing past the high neck of her suit to what skin is left bare. 

"You know, I don't know why I'm listening to the two of you. You're not nearly as squishy and breakable as I am."

"Because we're older than you," Steve points out, which doesn't really have anything to do with anything, but Kate's nervous enough to let it slide. 

She puts her earpiece in and is accosted by incessant chatter.

"If you're not going to go with Greased Lightning then I vote for Quicksilver," Tommy is saying. 

"I hate that musical," Pietro grumbles.

"Well, there you go. Quicksilver it is."

"Speed. You're allowed to be on comms only if you're able to help and not distract. I'm perfectly willing to let Eli yank that thing out of your ear and force you to watch Jeopardy. Clear?"

"Clear."

"Okay then." Kate forces down her anxiety, swallows it whole. "Let's go rescue Cassie."

=*=

The plan isn't so much  _simple_ as it is down and dirty. Brain had said to finesse it, but instinct said to be a hammer, not a scalpel. Not this time.

One of the insights Bucky gained through the last few years was this: Hydra expects spies. They expect sneaking, and subterfuge. Stealing key cards and false IDs—but for some reason, they never expect anyone to break down the front door. 

So that's what they do.

=*=

Steve and America have the majority of the Hydra agents tamped down as they bottleneck while trying to escape.  

David and Nate are pulling what data they can from Hydra's computers; Billy and Teddy are causing pandemonium. 

And Noh, Kate, and Bucky are being guided through a maze of corridors by Jonas, who has hacked into the system and is watching them through the security cameras, alerting them to anyone headed their way. It's a bit like having a psychic on the team and Kate can't say she minds.

=*=

There are some things you can't prepare for, no matter how much you try. 

And Kate had tried. Thought the past encounters she'd had with Cassie would have somehow made this easier but really--

It's not just that she's Cassie-but-not. It's that she's Cassie-but-stronger, Cassie-but-vicious, Cassie-but-wants-Kate-dead.

She's surrounded by handlers as the three of them enter the room, and Bucky and Noh break to take them out.

 _She's not going to be in there,_  Bucky had warned her.  _Not in a way that will be useful, not at first. She might recognize you, but she's programmed—she's not going to be her, not when you see her_ _there._ That's why Bucky is here. To prevent Kate from doing the exact stupid thing she's currently doing. 

"Cassie," Kate says, hands up, placating. "Stature. Hey, it's me, remember me--"

Cassie lunges at Kate and she evades at the last second, swinging her batons around to smack against Cassie's helmet. The sticks rebound off of the helmet and Kate just knows the blow did more damage to her than Cassie's suit. 

Well, hell.

Cassie charges again and this time Kate takes the force of the blow, lets Cassie knock her down so that Kate can swing her legs and hook Cassie by the knees, taking her down, too. 

Cassie's reflexes are faster, and she's up before Kate can do anything, fixated on one of her handlers, yelling something in a language Kate doesn’t recognize. 

The handler is fighting Bucky, and that's who Cassie looks to be heading for. Kate might not hold her life in very high esteem, but she does care about Bucky's, and that's what gets her back on her feet, taking off after Cassie.

Kate launches herself onto Cassie's back, wrapping her hands around Cassie's helmeted head, one at the forehead and one at the base of her neck. The gauntlets Bucky gave her ages ago hum against her palms and she activates them. 

The helmet sparks under Kate's hands and inside the suit, Cassie lets out a cry of pain. Guilt grips Kate and gives Cassie enough time to shake her off, to rip the useless helmet off and toss it to the ground.

That's what they were waiting for—where's Noh?

It's a split second of stupidity on Kate's part, a moment of worry and waiting that leaves her not paying attention to what's going on in front of her and that gives Cassie an opening. 

It's Cassie's hand that circles around Kate's throat, even as she thinks  _no, not Cassie, Cassie would never_ —a moment of stupidity before instinct kicks in.

Literally.

Kate kicks out, ramming her knee into Cassie’s chest, once, twice, three times; jabbing her elbow into Cassie's sternum to try and break her hold—

It doesn't work, of course, because Cassie is a supersoldier. Cassie's fist makes contact with Kate's side, and Kate's had enough broken ribs in her life to know what it feels like. She lands one more hit before Kate can force her brain to work around the lack of oxygen.

Kate reaches for her knife. She knows, logically, that whatever Cassie's wearing will be able to withstand something as prosaic as a knife, but she does it anyway. There's something about this knife, from someone—she doesn't know, just knows that the knife brings to mind an image of something almost, but not entirely, like a honey badger. 

She drives the knife down, by neck and collarbone, and it cuts through the wires and tubes and armor like a hot knife through butter. Cassie looks shocked, but only shocked enough to loosen her grip, not enough to let go. 

Enough, though, for a different opening. She can hear someone—David, it's David and Tommy and Eli—screaming in her ear that they've  _seen_ the footage and Cassie is far less breakable than Kate is, to  _do_ it--

She aims the knife lower, slides it in, worries about rebounding off of a rib and then realizes—did she just  _cut through_ a rib? What the hell kind of knife--

Cassie appears to be having this exact thought, if her look of shock is anything to go by. She doesn't drop Kate, but her grip on Kate's throat eases considerably, and then all at once, Bucky and Noh— _finally—_ are there, Bucky getting Cassie in a chokehold and Noh getting right in front of her and planting a big kiss square on Cassie's mouth.

Cassie struggles. Goes limp. 

Shoves Noh away.

"What the  _hell_ , dude? You can't just go up to strangers and...and..." Cassie takes a look around her and apparently realizes she's being held by someone else at the same time she gets a view of Kate. "Oh my god. Did I—did I try and--

A series of expressions that Kate couldn't even begin to categorize flicker across Cassie's face, and she sags against Bucky. 

Bucky, for his part, wants no truck with that, instead shoving Cassie at Noh and crossing to Kate, kneeling in front of her. 

"Are you--"

Cassie breaks out of Noh's grip, tackling Bucky to the floor. "I know you!  _You stay away from her!_ "

"Cassie—Stature!"

It's her codename that makes her freeze.

"Stature, look, he's a good guy, okay? We don't have time for this. We need to get out in case reinforcements come." Kate stands on her own, grimacing. Everything north of her hips is going to hurt like a motherfucker when she gets home. "Stature. Cassie, I'm not fucking kidding, we need to leave now." 

Cassie blinks, only she's not—not quite Cassie. Bucky says something to her in Russian; Cassie responds in kind. They go back and forth, rapid-fire, and after a moment Cassie nods. " _Tak_ _._ Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pietro's favorite musical is naturally West Side Story  
> also, the incoming/oncoming(?) chapters are probably going to be a lot shorter than they were in the past--I'm not sure why, or if it's just because these are going though a much shorter rewrite period/no editing, but I'm also hoping that by chunking it out differently, I'll be able to post more quickly. Cheers!


	12. Lead Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pain medication mention, murder mention

Hands, again.

Still proprietary. 

This time, though, the hands aren't securing her suit, they are divesting her of it. A desperate scramble made harder by the fact that Kate refuses to keep her lips to herself, and also the fact that she's got two broken ribs. 

Two brushes with death in a month is a bit much, in Kate's opinion, which is apparently shared by Steve and Bucky. 

They are gentle with her—Bucky mouthing gently at the bruises on her neck and Steve kneeling to help her out of her boots. She's grumpier than she should be when Bucky extricates her hands from his jacket and leads her to the shower, which is even more irritating, because being asked to raise her arms above her shoulders seems like a lot to ask.

=*=

Kate wakes with a panicked jolt, breathing hard. 

“You’re safe,” Bucky tells her, patting her knee, voice sleep-soft. 

Kate takes a deep breath. She rolls a little closer to Bucky and his promises of  _safe_  that prompts Steve to roll, too. Kate isn't sure he's awake—he doesn't sleep much, but when he does, he sleeps hard—but he tucks his face against her shoulder, his arm heavy across her waist. 

Her eyes dart toward the clock behind Bucky. 3:15. Two hours of sleep. 

"You all right?"

“I’m fine.” Kategrinds her teeth, still breathing hard. 

“Kate, you were almost strangled to death twice in the course of two weeks. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

“I  _am_ okay.”

“Kate,” Bucky stares at her. 

“Bucky,” she parrots his tone. “I’m  _fine_. I have to be okay. For my team. For Cassie and Noh, I have to be okay.”

“Funny. I don’t see your team around.”

“Har-de-har-har.”

“ _Kate_.”

“What, Bucky? I’m not going to lose my shit. I'm fine.” Even as she says it, Kate’s eyes start to itch and it has  _nothing_ to do with how Bucky is looking at her, or how patient he seems, or the warmth that he’s projecting. It has nothing to do with people she loves trying to kill her often enough that it now seems like an expected occurrence in her life, or the bruises that ring her neck, or how she’s simply not as physically strong as she needs to be to protect herself.

It’s that the air in her apartment is dry. Or something. 

Bucky strokes her eyebrow with his thumb and Kate just has a chance to suck in a shaky breath before a sob breaks loose. It hurts, but not just mentally or emotionally—her sharp gasp brings her focus back on her torso, on the heavy weight pressing down against her side. Bucky adjusts Steve's arm, moving it to her hips and curling his cool metal hand around her sore ribs. It's an ache she didn't realize she had and her relieved sigh is so deep it grazes the border of being painful.

Of course, now that she's acknowledged her ribs, they  _throb_ , a separate entity with its own heartbeat. The feeling pounds at her, scratches in her head, all sensations she'd rather not deal with. 

Bucky sighs, too, and Kate cracks open an eye to look at him. 

"You didn't take your pain medication, did you?"

"I forgot."

"You forgot to take it, or you forgot you  _could_ take it?"

The set of Bucky's mouth tells Kate this isn't something she can get away with fibbing about.

"Uh. Both?"

This earns a growl before Bucky moves to get out of bed. Kate snags his arm before he can even sit up. "I don't want to wake Steve," she whispers, not entirely sure if that's the reason, or if she's feeling some sort of blind panic at the thought of Bucky leaving. It's kind of hard to think around the throbbing in her torso and her neck.

"Christ, Kate," Steve swears. It feels like he rolls over to snag something off the bedside table, but he doesn't get up so it's fine. "Of all the times to worry about accidentally waking me up—Buck, go get the pills.'

Bucky does so, and even though Kate is put out with Steve for sending him away, she snuggles closer to him because...he's Steve. Reason enough.

"Why do I hear a phone ringing?" She asks.

"Because a phone is ringing," Steve says. "Now hush."

" _Is something wrong, who's hurt, is Kate okay--"_

"No, no, she's okay. Just isn't taking her pain meds."

 _"Oh, for—put her on_."

Steve holds the phone to Kate's ear. "It's David for you."

"I was right here as you called him! I know it's—hi, David."

"Kate. Why aren't you taking the pain pills? You just got the shit kicked out of you--"

"I wasn't kicked at all. Don't twist the facts."

"Kate."

It has to be some sort of witchcraft that she can perfectly imagine the expression David is wearing and the energy he's exuding, all in varying shades of  _disappointed_. 

"I forgot."

"Okay, well, sometimes you forget and sometimes you  _forget."_

"I don't like them. They make my head go all wibbly wobbly."

"That's how you know they're working." Miles away, David sighs. "I'm guessing you've got one, probably two supersoldiers with you. Nothing's going to happen while you're out. I can't think of anything that could get past them. Have you seen them? They're  _huge_ , Kate." His voice gets quiet. "If it would make you feel better, I can come over and keep an eye out, too."

Kate swallows around the unexpected lump in her throat. "No, you're fine. I'm just being stupid."

"Let's classify it as being reasonably cautious."

"Okay. Fair."

"Now I need you to take care of yourself. The world isn't going to end in the next few days, and you're not helping anyone by being conscious but in pain."

"If you're sure." Kate has her doubts, but David has a point—even if the world was ending, she's not likely to be a lot of use in the near future. She tosses back the pills Bucky offers her without complaint before settling back into bed, trying to find the least uncomfortable position. "You're good at this. Why don't you lead the team?"

"I'm too smart to want to do all that work." He tells her to get some rest and Steve takes the phone back from her.

It's not until about twenty minutes later when she breaks out of her dozing state, elbowing Steve. 

"Steve. Steve, I think David called me dumb, text him back and tell him he's  _rude_."

=*=

It's two weeks after rescuing Cassie, which translated into a week and a half of sleeping off her injuries for Kate interspersed with making plans for heavily supervised coffee dates and vetting lawyers. Tony's done video chat with her a few times—it was hard to keep track of days for a while, there, and Tony's never kept what could be called a normal schedule. She doesn’t remember anything that was said, but she  _does_ remember the look on Tony's face when he'd caught Steve skulking in the background. Almost made everything worth it.

It's dinner time, the three of them seated at her battered table, arguing about who is going to do the dishes, when the knock comes. Bucky fades into the kitchen and Steve pulls the gun from under the table where he'd stashed it beck when he first started spending the night. 

Kate creeps to the door, ears straining for any sound of a weapon being cocked, and feels absurdly paranoid when she looks through her peephole to see that it's David. 

"It's fine." She throws the words over her shoulder before unlocking her door and letting David in. "What's going on? You look worried."

"Worried is a word you could use. I have something you need to see.  _All_ of you," he adds, nodding at Steve, then frowning. "All  _three_ of you."

He leads them to her living room, talking all the while. "I've been sifting through the stuff we got in Latveria," he starts. "Jonas and Nate have been helping, so it's going faster than I anticipated. We also got files from where they were keeping Cassie--we found...a bunch of stuff."

"And the  _stuff_ that brought you here? Where's that from?"

"The SHIELD-slash-Hydra infodump. I'm tracking what I found, looking for similar stuff or mission logs, anything really, you know just trying to get a feel for--"

"David." Kate pins him with a look. "Deep breath." He does so. "What did you find?"

"I think it's better if I just show you." He passes her a tablet and Steve and Bucky crowd around her.

David reaches over and taps the screen, pulling up a grainy video of a dark, empty road. Blocky text in the lower corner informs her that this is footage from December 16, 1991. 

A car crashes on the screen and then--

The video stops playing and Kate swallows around her suddenly dry throat. 

Bucky is staring straight ahead and Steve is still as a statue. 

A hundred thoughts battle for the right to be the first out of her mouth. It takes Kate a minute to break the silence. "Can you get rid of it?"

"This was dumped on the internet. I know you think I'm a genius, but I'm not that good. Nobody is."

"That was Howard," Steve says softly. Bucky flinches.

 _Christ_. One crisis at a time. 

"You're sure this wasn't on the servers from where we found Cassie?"

"Positive. I've been digging in this subset of files for a few months now. The fact that a lot of it was in Russian didn't help."

"So there's more that you haven't seen?"

"Yeah. Well—one of you lived it and two of you have seen some of it, it's not exactly fun to watch, Hawkeye. I can't just dig for three days and no rest. I just can't."

Bucky goes, if possible, even more still. Comforting him isn't something she knows how to do, so she handles the problem she can, passing the tablet back to David and squeezing his shoulders. "I understand. Thank you for letting us know about it."

His eyes dart to Bucky. "I just wanted you to have a head's up. I found it. Other people can, too."

"Well, I don't believe there are many people as smart as you, but I get what you're saying. Can you tell if anyone else has seen it, or where it went?"

"Way ahead of you, Hawkeye." David taps the screen a few times, pulling up a list with long strings of numbers. It's something that might make sense to people who are not currently in this room, and Kate sighs to let David know this. "It only went a few places. Ten, maybe, and compared to how many homes a lot of that other information had..." David trails off. "This could be worse. This could be blowing up on youtube right now, but it's not. That means everyone else who's seen it either didn't save it because they didn't know what it was--"

"Or they know exactly what it is and are waiting to use it for presumably nefarious reasons."

"Nefarious?"

"You're the one who got me the word-a-day calendar, dude. Don't be mad when I use it."

"Right." A smile ghosts over his features. "Sorry to spring this on you. I didn't know how else to do it."

She glances to either side, debating telling Steve and Bucky not to move, but it doesn't look like either of them are capable of doing more than staring at nothing in shock. There's a fear one or both of them are going to bolt out of her window, clambering down her fire escape never to be seen again, but she swallows it down. 

"Thank you," she says instead, grabbing David by the elbow and steering him back to her door. "Not to kick you out or anything."

"No, I get it. Family discussion time."

Kate can't hide her shocked expression.

"What? I've got eyes. And I know you. Just, please be careful."

"I will. Will you keep this between us for now?"

"Absolutely." He looks over her shoulder to where two stunned nonagenarians sit stone still.

"There's one more thing."

 _No thanks._ "What?"

"When we started working with the Avengers, after the whole Ultron thing, Stark and I kept in touch. Kate, I sent him a big batch of files to help me sort through, and that was in them."

"You sent that stuff to Tony? Why?"

"It's a lot of information and he lives in a computer the size of a skyscraper. I figured he could help me figure out what was interoffice memos and what where coded missives a lot faster than I could on my own. I don't think he's seen it, but..." He trails off.

But. 

"Call me if you need anything." David hesitates before pulling her in to a loose hug, careful not to squeeze her too hard. "I mean that. I'm here for you. Barnes might have pulled the trigger but we both know he didn't do it, not really."

Relief washes over her. "You're a good friend."

Goodbyes said, Davids gone, Kate wanders back to the boys, still silent. 

 _Some people are hammers_ , she remembers her mom saying.  _Some people are nails._

Time to be a hammer.

"Do you remember it?"

"No...yes...I don't know." Bucky is flat, his eyes lifeless. 

"Okay." They can shelve that for later. "I think we need to get out ahead of this."

"Ahead of what?" Steve asks, snappish. "You heard David. Only a handful of people have seen this, and most of them probably didn't even understand what it was."

"And some of them  _might_ ," Kate snaps right back, deciding not to get into Steve eavesdropping right now. "And I'm not talking about the general population. I'm talking about Tony."

"Howard's kid?" Bucky keeps looking more and more crushed, and Kate hates that they have to have this conversation, but they  _do_. "I don't want him to see this."

"That might be a moot point. He could have already seen it. He could find it on his own, or somebody could send it to him to hurt him or to get him to want to hurt you. If we hadn't seen it—that's one thing. But we've seen it, we know it exists. We know it happened, and even though you had no control over those actions, that might be hard for him to keep in mind if he's confronted with this..." Kate grinds her teeth and hates herself a little bit. She's come at this all wrong.

At some point, they'll have to worry about other people. At some point, they'll have to fight outsiders and defend themselves, but right now they aren't under attack.

She takes Bucky's hand, palm-to-palm. After a beat, Steve sandwiches their hands between his. 

"Buck." His voice is soft. "You didn't do that. We know you didn't. Anyone who thinks that you did can go to hell. We're here for you. We're with _you_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand we're officially in "prelude to civil war" territory now whaaaat  
> for those of you who want more Noh or Cassie content, never fear. They will be making larger appearances, or at least actual conversations.


	13. What If This Storm Ends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Politics, philosophy, and old fears. A civil start to a war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch me begin to lose any chill I had remaining
> 
> also: hella not beta'ed, I'd ask if anyone wants the job but I'm...je suis...high strung af and i'd hate to inflict myself on any of you lovely people.

Kate doesn't often wonder what it's like to have a normal life—usually just when she's severely injured and she wonders how people function with all the cartilage in their knees or without pins in their arms. Stuff like that. She loves her life, she loves what she gets to do, but hospitals don't have a lot of charm. 

Meeting your ex again—seeing your childhood best friend for the first time in years—Kate would gladly take the normal person version of this. She imagines the normal version of this involves less brainwashing and attempted murder. 

She also imagines that normal people wouldn't be limping to this meeting, and that if they were it wouldn't be because they got clipped by a car the day before while tracking down the local organized crime syndicate.  Steve had seen it all while walking back from the bodega on the corner (because of course he had) and had taken off after the car in question (because of course he did). It had taken him longer than Kate felt was strictly necessary to realize his girlfriend had gotten hit by a car and come running back. Steve had gotten all frowny when she'd asked him not to tell Bucky but had agreed, though that was mostly because he felt guilty about not going to her first. Bucky gets weird about people hitting Kate with cars—it's not like it's happened  _that often_ but still. She hadn't wanted to risk startling the tracksuits, not when she's got them where she wants them. 

Anyway, the point is that for the majority of her life, Kate wouldn't trade it for normal anything.  

This is definitely a tradeable moment.  

They're in one of the common areas of the compound. The sound of Sam ribbing Wanda as they jog fades in and out, the sound of arrows hitting a target as Clint shoots on the patch of lawn just outside the window. Kate is almost positive Clint is supposed to be retired now so his presence fairly reeks of meddlesome spy-dudes 

Kate doesn't know what to do with her hands. When was the last time she had this problem? Should she set them on the table, or does that seem forced? But if she has them in her lap that's weirder-- 

Cassie clears her throat. "So." 

"So," Kate echoes. "Are you—are you settling in okay here? Your room is okay and everything?" 

"Yeah, it's fine, it's great. It's—choice, you know? Kind of overwhelming. Food is overwhelming." 

Kate remembers that with Bucky. "Yeah, I know—well, I don't  _know_  but--" 

"Him," Cassie interrupts. "He helped you, you know him. The—I never knew his name. He trained me." Something in Cassie's face shutters closed, then. "I think he tried to be kind to me, when he remembered he was a person, but that wasn't often. I don't remember a lot." Cassie shakes her head with a frustrated sigh. "Everything is in fragments, and some days the pieces come together and sometimes they just...don't." 

Kate remembers days like that, years ago when Bucky was James and he'd look at her like he had no idea who she was, when the day before they'd been talking and laughing together. He would move differently when those moments happened, distant and wary, always bracing for a blow. When these moments happen now—and they still happen, Kate's not stupid enough to pretend she doesn’t see them—they're shorter and farther apart. 

"It gets better," Kate promises. "I've seen it get better." 

"Right," Cassie swallows convulsively. "He was there, right? Saving you from me while you were trying to save me. David told me he's Bucky Barnes which seems...impossible." 

"Not any more impossible than you being alive." Kate swallows hard. "Cassie, if we'd known you were alive, we would have come for you—as soon as we found out, we did, we started looking. I'm so sorry we didn't think to question what happened to you." 

There, it's out there in the open, the horrible festering guilt in all its nauseating glory.  

"I know," Cassie says after a pause that feels like it's going to suffocate. "David told me. Us. Me, Noh, and Tommy." 

"Oh, good. So the Here's What You Missed class is going well?" 

"Yes, yeah. Pretty well." 

The words are ash in Kate's mouth, wrong and inadequate, but she doesn't know what the right ones are. 

"I wish you'd found me sooner," Cassie says, eventually. She says it slowly, like she wants to make sure everything comes out right. "I have all this darkness in me now, and I don't know what to do with it, like I've got landmines in my brain and anything could set them off. Yesterday Noh offered me a hard-boiled egg and I threw him out a window. I still don't know why." 

"Cassie--" 

"No, let me finish. I know that's not fair and it's not your fault but I missed  _so much_ , Kate and I hate it. And I hate the part of me that resents everyone and then there's still the part of me that's grateful, and then I'm scared that you'll hate me for trying to kill you and I just have  _so many feelings_ and I don't know what to do with them," Cassie finishes in a rush. 

Kate's first thought, oddly enough, is that Cassie's brainwashing experience must have been much different from Bucky's. Maybe it's just that less time passed between Cassie being taken and breaking free. Kate remembers Bucky, post-Hydra, and it had taken him months to freely express his opinion. Interrupt her? Forget about it.  

"I'm sorry," Kate says, even though it's still inadequate. "If I could give you back those years, Cassie, I would." Kate would pull them from her own lungs if she could, but she can't. 

"I know." Cassie barks out a humorless laugh. "I just. I'm trying to be good about explaining what's going on in my head. If I say it out loud, the emotions are less confusing." 

"That's good," Kate says, and it still feels like the wrong thing to say. "Let me...let me know if there's anything I can do to help?" 

"Sounds good." Cassie nods as she says it, as they both walk to the door and it all feels stilted and  _wrong._  

Kate is halfway down the hall before Cassie speaks again. "When they first took me, I'd—I'd come up with all these scenarios where you guys rescued me. I was trying to do that thing you used to talk about, where you build a place in your head where nothing can touch you. And—I just--" Cassie blinks rapidly, staring at the ceiling. "It took you guys a while, but you still came. You knew what they made me, and you still came. I tried to  _kill_ you, and you still came." 

Cassie ignores Kate, ignores the fat tear rolling down her cheek, and Kate feels giddy with relief, of all things.  

Because this? This is a problem she knows how to handle. 

"Cassie." Kate says her name slowly and clearly, making sure Cassie is paying attention. "It  _wasn't your fault._ Okay?  _None of this_ was your fault. You were  _brainwashed_ and forced to do things. You didn't have a  _choice_. None of us blame you and we will not allow you to blame yourself because it. Was not. Your fault." 

Cassie looks at her, lower lip wobbling. "You really believe that?" 

"If I didn't believe it I wouldn't say it." 

And that, finally, is the right thing to say. 

=*= 

"I'm sorry," Noh says, before she even sits down, then again when she does. "I never meant to hurt you. At any point since we've met. I never meant to hurt you, and I keep doing it, and I'm sorry." 

Kate reaches for Noh's hands and he gives them, looking like he half expects her to rip them off.  She's not. She's a little raw and a little spiritually sore, but Kate is in a place of emotional maturity today, and she's ready to tell Noh some things he probably needs to hear. 

Also, if she has his hands in hers, she knows exactly where they're not, which is around her neck.  

"Noh. You are...kind of an idiot. But I believe you. I know you weren't in control, and that you were being manipulated with the whole kidnapping thing. It's not like you maliciously designed to kill me. I don't blame you." 

"You don't?" 

"Nope. I mean, you don't have permission to sneak up on me for...ever, but logic-brain knows, okay?" She takes a deep breath. "I'm not saying there won't be lingering hard feelings, in general. But as far as the team's concerned—everyone's logic-brain knows this. Noh," she squeezes his hands. "You brought Tommy back. You helped us bring Cassie back. That's important, that  _means_ something." 

Noh looks uncomfortable—not that he doesn’t believe her, more that he doesn't want to believe her. That's okay, they've got time. "Cassie says you've been really nice to her." 

"Well," Noh shrugs, clearly relieved at the subject change. "Why wouldn't I be nice to her? We're in the same boat." 

"And how's your What-You-Missed class?" 

Noh frowns, deep lines furrowing his brow. "David says we're going to be talking about lemonade today. I don't understand it. Lemonade is a beverage that's been around for hundreds of years. How could I have missed it?" 

Kate manages to contain her laughter. She'd hate to ruin the surprise. 

=*= 

"Again," Bucky says.  

She's laying on his chest, trying to not think about the Accords, and he's trying to teach her Russian. It's not going great, which means it is sufficiently distracting.  

He's also scratching his metal fingers across her scalp, which, frankly, is the only form of bribery Kate consistently takes, a fact Bucky knows and takes shameless advantage of.  

" _Koshka_ ," she says. 

"Good. Next?" 

" _Serebro_ _._ " 

"That's not the next word. Your pronunciation is good, but that's--" 

Kate sits up so she can look him in the eye. "Oh. So why do I need to say these random Russian words in a specific  _order_ , Bucky?" She dares him to say it, wills him to admit that he's teaching her some sort of codewords or keywords or  _something_. 

He doesn’t. He just shrugs, daring  _her_ to say something, to give voice to the little suspicion in the back of her head that Bucky and Cassie's talks have involved more than just surviving outside of Hydra and more along the lines of what they remember about their time as brainwashed assassins.  

" _Dvigatelja_ ," Kate finally relents, only to have Bucky laugh at her. 

"That was terrible. Again." 

So she does, but only because he's been making Steve learn the words, too, and because she hates the look Bucky gets when she makes a fuss about it. If it'll make him feel better, what's the harm?  

Steve's pronunciation is worse than Kate's by quite a bit. She's not quite sure how the man can speak upwards of five languages with varying degrees of fluency and somehow the only one he manages a passable accent in is French.  

Still, they do it. If they can purchase peace for Bucky by paying his paranoia, they'll do it. To help chase away nightmares and the shadows in his eyes—eight words doesn’t seem too high a price at all. 

>>>\-----> 

There's something strange and nice all at the same time about being back in the old Bishop Publishing warehouse with the majority of the team, like a family reunion. 

It would be nicer if it was a general sort of meeting, rather than one called so they can talk about something they wish didn't exist, but, well. Real life is full of inconveniences.  

"We were asked for our opinion," Kate begins. "On the Sokovia Accords." 

"What a bunch of bullshit," Billy leads with, and they're off to the races. 

Kate lets everyone throw their punches, not paying attention so much to what is said as to how it's being said. Fear and anger and irritation are expected, but David's anxiety, the odd way he's curling in on himself and not looking at her are interesting, as is the fact that Noh and Cassie, who are both silent, are also sporting some very defensive body language.  

"Okay." She holds up her hand and lets the furor die down, deciding that she'll make David go first. Making Cassie or Noh voice their potentially opposing opinions first doesn't seem fair. "David, what's this about?" She waves at him. "You're retreating into your shirt." 

"I don't like it," he says, completely ruining Kate's intention. She definitely misread that one. "This just—this is the Index, all over again, and we didn't like it the first time around." 

"Yeah, only this time Kate won't be there to sabotage it." Tommy adds. 

"What?" Kate stares at him. 

"Unless you're planning on going undercover or something?" Tommy tosses a peanut up in the air, catches it in his mouth. "I don't think Ross would buy that. Fool him once, shame on us, fool him twice...what?" 

"What are you  _talking_ about, me sabotaging the Index?" Kate shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the faint buzzing in her ears.  

"You know, you  _sabotaging_ the  _Index_ ," Tommy says, acting like he's said something different instead of just repeating what he'd said before with more emphasis. "Oh. Right. Plausible whatever whatever. I get it." He does finger guns at her. "Righty-o, bosslady." 

Kate  _stares_ at him, working her way up to a full-on glare when she sees David staring at  _her_. Worried.  

Okay. This is all weird as shit and she really doesn't have time for whatever David's doing right now, so she tables it and turns to Cassie and Noh. 

"You two have been keeping pretty quiet. What are your thoughts?" 

"I'm not from Earth, does my opinion really count?" Noh asks. 

"Well, you live here and it affects you so...yeah, dude. You get to have an opinion," Tommy says, which is actually helpful. 

"Oversight isn't something to be dismissed out of hand," Noh starts, hesitating. "For every one of you—of us—there's at least one person who doesn't believe in using their abilities to help people." 

"Really?" Teddy interrupts. "You really think it's a one-to-one ratio?" 

"I don't think the ratio is the important part," Noh tries again. 

"No, no, I think your ratio is important. I think it says a lot about you." 

"Teddy." Kate is firm, and Teddy stops talking immediately. "We're going to listen to everyone's opinion--" 

"Even if their opinions are stupid?" 

"Wow. Okay, do you need to go back to fifth grade?" 

"I think it's a fair point," Billy says, because of course he does. "Not everybody looks at other people and immediately wonders how they can screw that other person over." 

"Okay," Kate stands. "Guys, we talked about this--" 

"This has nothing to do with him trying to kill you. You're right, he was brainwashed and not in control. This is about  _choices_ Noh made while  _not_ brainwashed that involved  _kidnapping my_ _fiancé_ _!_ " Billy shouts.  

"And I am very, very sorry for that!" 

"I get that!" Billy and Noh are just shouting at one another. Maybe they just need to have a bit of a shout and it'll be over in a second. "I'm  _just saying_ that maybe you aren't the best moral guidepost we could be using!" 

"That's what makes me an excellent benchmark! I'm  _trying_! How many people with skill and abilities do you think are just fine being shitty people? Lots! Not everyone is like you!" 

Kate thinks, jokingly, that she doesn't get paid enough to do this, before remembering she doesn’t get paid at all.  

She has to give the guys points, it's an awfully  _civil_  shouting match, but it's still a shouting match, and in all likelihood, it's going to continue on until everyone involved is hoarse. 

Kate slips out of the room, heading to the kitchen. She's got her head stuck in the fridge, digging for a snack, when she hears footsteps behind her. 

"So how long until they realize you're gone?" Cassie asks. 

Kate doesn't move, trying to figure out who stole her Chinese leftovers. "Ten, twenty minutes? The volume will ratchet up and then they'll realize no one's telling them that some of them have never been told to shut up and it shows, and then they'll realize it's because I'm gone. Hungry?" 

"This might sound dumb, but are there any juice boxes in there?" 

"Cassie. Please. We're adults. Of  _course_ we have juice boxes." 

Kate tosses Cassie a few, because they're adults and one juice box won't cut it, and has the utter joy of watching Cassie fail at stabbing the straw through the foil.  

"Stop laughing at me and  _help_ ," Cassie snaps, shoving the beverage at Kate. 

"Well, seeing this, I don't know why I was worried about you killing me," she says. "That's really sad, Cass." 

"It's not too soon to be making jokes?" 

"Not sure yet." 

They sit in a mostly not-awkward silence.  

"So, how often does this happen that you know it takes twenty minutes for them to figure out you're gone?" 

"Every few months? Once it gets to name calling I just leave. There's an entire argument that's legendary that I completely missed because I was making popcorn. I get it, sometimes you just need to shout it out, but usually when you're shouting that much it doesn't actually matter if the other person is bringing up good points. " 

They sit, snacking, until the telltale silence descends from the next room and Kate and Cassie return.  

"Okay," Kate says. "Let's try this again. Tony Stark wants to know where we stand on the Accords. Of course, we can all have our own opinions. That's not the issue. If we can't present a unified front, then we can't present a unified front. It is what it is. But if we don't agree, then we need to come to some sort of understanding, because any of us that publicly come out in favor of registration are going to have to answer some questions, and those questions could have a major impact on all of us." 

The atmosphere in the room changes as everyone shifts in their seats. It's serious, now. 

Eli is the first one to speak up. "What do you think about it, Kate?" 

"Honestly? I'm incredibly disturbed by parts of it and perplexed by others." Kate rests her hand on the enormous stack of papers that is the Accords. "For example, having a group of people who aren't superpowered designating which abilities are more dangerous than others isn't something I'm a fan of, but it's also...just...stupid." 

"I thought we weren't calling things stupid," Tommy points out. 

"Well, I don't know what else to call it," Kate admits. "Imagine Billy or Wanda goes in to get evaluated. They each are powerful enough to convince whoever is trying to evaluate them that they pose no real threat, and that's stupid. The really disturbing part is that individuals of a sufficiently concerning power level—and how that level is determined isn't defined by the Accords—must wear some sort of tracking device at all times." 

"Whoa," Teddy interjects. "I missed that part." 

"The whole thing is like this." Kate massages her forehead. "There's no firm delineation between a superpowered individual or a supersoldier, or what makes someone a  _super_. Granted, this is still just a draft, but by some interpretations, Steve wouldn't have to register as a supersoldier. Clint and Natasha and Sam and I wouldn't, but our actions working as Avengers would violate the Accords--" 

"What happens if you violate the Accords?" 

"Oh, there's the kicker. Indefinite detention." 

" _What_." Tommy, the only one who has actually been incarcerated, is  _floored_. "Indefinite? Are you serious?" 

"Yep. And anyone who violates the Accords can be detained. If you don't register, you can be detained. I don't have to register in this version, but if I help you in any sort of unauthorized mission, I'm violating the Accords and I can be detained. Missing a check-in with your UN assigned babysitter? You can be detained. Again, this is an early draft," Kate tries to stay positive. "There's room for change. Nobody's signed it yet." 

"But right now, it's a steaming pile of bullshit," Tommy concludes. "Yikes." 

"It's not bullshit," Cassie pipes up. "Kate's right, I mean, it sounds like there's some stupid oversights in there, but it's not bullshit, and Kate, I'm kind of surprised to hear you of all people shooting this down." 

"Okay, first of all: well done on the archery joke. Second of all, Why 'me of all people'?" 

"Kate, you  _of all people_  know what we're capable of!" Cassie shoots Noh a glance, and he gives her a small nod in return. "The two of us tried to  _kill_ you! What if you hadn't had the team with you? What if we'd gotten you alone, managed to actually kill you? What if it was a regular civilian? Kate, we  _need_ someone keeping us in check.  _I_  need someone." 

Kate gapes at Cassie, so overwhelmed by how  _wrong_ she is that no words come to mind.  

"Yes," Cassie continues. "Some of it's scary and some of it's overkill, but people shouldn't have to be afraid of us. We aren't better than other people, but we're different, and maybe we need different rules to keep us in line." 

"I get it," David says. His voice is soft as he leans forward. "But this isn't just about the two of you. There are others who this would affect that just want to live their lives as quietly and peacefully as possible. The Accords aren't just about those of us in this room." 

"You're right. It's about the other people in this world and in this universe," Noh says. "Cassie is right. Unchecked power never works out well." 

"It's not about checking power! I can't believe this," Billy hisses. "Look at what happened the last time someone thought government handled oversight would work. Hydra happened, that's what. How are they planning on finding all of these superpowered people, anyway? Are we all supposed to sign up? March to DC or something?" 

Cassie turns to him. "Don’t they have the Index? Even an incomplete version would give them a starting point." 

"The Ind--" Something scratches at Kate's throat and she coughs. "The only version anyone's been able to find is a very outdated version. From the Nineties, I think." She coughs against the itch in her throat and David passes her his untouched glass of water. "Thanks." 

"There's some highly questionable logistics involved, I'll give you that," Noh agrees. "But overall...if we truly want to do good in the world, isn't that worth a little compromise?" 

"It's not a compromise if one party isn't giving anything up." Kate braces her hands on the table. "I'm going to tell Tony that we're not united on this, not with this version of the Accords. I'll let him know what we talked about, maybe he can pass the message along and get some things changed." 

=*= 

"David. What was Tommy talking about?" 

"When?" 

"You know, earlier. With me knowing stuff about the Index?" 

David shrugs, not meeting her eyes. "It's Tommy. Just bullshit, probably." 

"Right." Kate's eyes are itching and her nose is sniffly and David hands her a tissue. 

"You getting allergies or something?" 

"I have no idea. I keep getting this scratchy feeling in the back of my throat. Maybe there's mold here." Kate realizes with irritation that's probably what it is. "Well, guess what we're doing next weekend!" 

"I'm not helping you look for mold." 

"Uh, yes you are. Who else is going to help me? It'll be a team project." 

"Billy and Teddy have to head back to school." 

"Lame." 

She pulls the knife out of her boot, fiddling with it, wondering, before slamming it into the table. 

It cuts clean through wood and plastic until the hilt reaches the surface and that, Kate thinks, is not normal at  _all._  

"David, do you know where I got this knife?" 

David stares at the hilt sticking out of the table. "Barnes?" He guesses. 

Kate frowns. "No, I think I've had it for years, I just can't remember. It's weird." Her frown deepens. "And that's not normal. Knives can't do that.  I asked Bucky if he'd ever seen anything like it, and he said decades ago, maybe. Some sort of bunker, maybe human experimentation—one of those things he doesn't really remember." 

She falls silent, waiting for David to enlighten her, or pluck some forgotten knowledge from her head, but the seconds stretch into minutes and he doesn't. He just stares at the knife with a strange sort of intensity. If it wouldn't be completely ridiculous for him to be so, Kate would think he was angry. Which is ridiculous.  

It's just....not  _normal_  for Kate to forget things. She's been feeling like that a lot lately, like there's a word on the tip of her tongue that she can't get out, and once she remembers it in three days she'll feel like an idiot for thinking it was a bigger deal than it was. 

"Any idea what kind of metal it is?" He finally asks. 

"Not a clue. Not super eager to go get it tested in case I accidentally stole it from SHIELD." A thought pops into her head. "Hey, I didn't borrow this from you, did I? You seem kind of pissed about it." 

Just like that, the scowl vanishes. "What? No. Not mine, don't worry. I'm not mad, either, I'm just..." He sighs. "Tired. I'm tired. And I can't believe that Cassie and Noh think the Accords are a good idea." 

"Well, they are coming from a place of fear," Kate tries to reason. "Maybe if I'd just tried to kill people I care about I'd be more open to it, too." 

David nods and agrees, but he's still staring at the knife. If he wasn't David, Kate might think he was lying to her, that he does know something about it-- 

But he  _is_  David, and they don't lie to one another.  

=*= 

The sun is setting when Kate finally makes it home, the balmy summer air wrapping around her like a damp towel. There's nobody in her apartment, so Kate makes her way to the roof, wishing that her problems could be somebody else's for a while, wishes that someone would take away the weight she feels pressing her down into the earth.  

Bucky is on the roof. He's been spending more and more time up here, soaking up the sun and enjoying the open sky. Kate isn't sure if it's just a tradeoff for him staying put for longer than three weeks, or if this is part of a natural evolution, a reaction to decades of being frozen and imprisoned. Kate and Steve haven't pressed him about it, they've just stocked up on box fans and opened up all of her windows.  

The roof is about a thousand times nicer since Bucky decided it was  _his_ place. He's set out flower boxes and bird feeders, a café table and chairs. There's even a small radio that's piping out the sounds of the local big band station.  

Bucky wordlessly passes her a glass of water because he's gotten it into his head that she drinks too much coffee and not enough water. She takes it, because Bucky being pushy about  _anything_ is still a good thing. And it reminds her that as much as she cares for Cassie and Noh, and wanted them to have and express their opinions—they're  _wrong_. Registration isn't a safety net for them, or Bucky, or anyone else Hydra took and abused. Maybe— _maybe—_ if it hadn't been helmed by Ross, she'd trust it more. Maybe if she believed he respected people with abilities, not just feared them-- 

But she doesn't believe that. She knows Ross well enough, his fear and his anger towards Eli, towards Banner; his willingness to accept any collateral damage to get powered individuals in his custody. If it was anyone but Ross-- 

"Ma'am?" Bucky extends his hand to her, right in front of her face, interrupting her circular thoughts. "You're thinking too hard." 

Kate, unable to argue with this, takes his hand and lets Bucky pull her to her feet.  

" _Ma'am_ ," she mutters under her breath, and Bucky grins at her. He doesn't say anything, though, just takes one of her hands in his, the other firm on her waist, and begins leading her across the roof. It is entirely possible to brood while dancing; it's just a lot harder.  

"You can't do anything about it right now," Bucky reminds her as the beat picks up and the radio informs them that  _it_ _don't_ _mean a thing if it_ _ain't_ _got that swing_. "Give your mind a rest." 

She wants to. She wants to be able to not think about the Accords, or registration, or the Index, a rush of information that leaves her feeling overwhelmed and unfocused, like she can't get a good grasp on the subject.  

Bucky senses her weakness. "Take the night off, doll." 

Kate huffs. "Cheater." Kate is many things, but able to resist the charms of 1940s slang is not one of them. She relents, shoving as many thoughts about Ross and registration to the side as she can, only trying to hijack the lead from Bucky twice. She tries to be subtle about it and actually succeeds once, for an entire song.  

He's right, he's right. The world can hold itself together for one night.  

Time slips away and the stars come out, and when Steve comes home, he's not allowed to use his brain either.  

As Steve stands behind her, her hand sandwiched between his and Bucky's, Steve's hand on Bucky's hip squeezing them all in together as they attempt to teach Steve how to dance—Kate figures if they can work this out, they can work anything out.  

"Steve," Bucky says, infinitely patient. "How are you managing to step on  _my_ feet and not Kate's?" 

"Hey! I don't want anyone stepping on my feet! Take one for the team, Bucky." 

Steve proceeds to step on her heel, and Kate drags them to a halt. There's some shuffling as they reconfigure, this time with Steve in the middle. Kate patiently counts out the beat  _one-two-three-one-two-three_ and occasionally Bucky smiles at her over Steve's shoulder. Eventually, Steve stops stepping on their feet—after he surrenders control and allows himself to be moved across the erstwhile dance floor. Steve can either watch his feet or pay attention to where he's going, a fact both perplexing and hilarious. You'd think he'd be able to manage what with the supersoldier reflexes and all, but no. 

Steve begs off after a few dances, and even Kate's feet are getting tired when the tempo picks up, fast and jazzy. 

The moon is rising as Kate and Bucky do the Charleston on her roof, she thinks she might like these moments best of all—the moments where all of their disparate parts blend into a whole. It's almost easy, here, to be socialite and archer and agent, to not worry about the barriers she puts up between who she  _is_ and who she's  _supposed_ to be. She thinks Steve and Bucky feel that way, too—she hopes they do.  

And if they can manage that, they can manage anything. 

>>>\-----> 

Bucky slings his backpack over his shoulder and pulls Kate and Steve in for a last goodbye. Anger and something else burn at the back of Kate's throat, and she swallows down her selfishness, bites back the part of her that doesn't care about  _other people_. 

She blocks off the part of her that wants to fight this, that wants to accuse him of  _running away_  because that's what it feels like. And it's her fault, too, and Steve's, for grabbing on to the thread of once-was-SHIELD and pulling and unraveling the whole damn sweater.  

Bucky is the best of them, better than her and better than Steve, because he's leaving to find strangers, trapped in ice like he once was, and Kate doesn't care about them at all.  

Okay, that's not entirely true, but the hyperbole feels good, feels sharp and  _right_ in her head.  

A lot of things don't feel  _right_ at the moment. The Accords. This secret about Tony that isn't hers to tell.  

Bucky wants answers before anyone talks to Tony. It's understandable—he wants to try and find out who gave the order, and why, and, perhaps most importantly, what happened to whatever was in the back of Howard Stark's car.  

They have suspicions, of course, half-discussed and danced around between the three of them as well as David and Sam. That a case that small and a response so extreme means either tech or serum. 

None of them like the serum idea, and naturally Steve likes it least. That his blood was used to turn people into weapons. As far as Kate knows, it's  _never_ been something he was comfortable with—the lengths people went to, and still go to, to _be like him._  

But it is what it is. They go over Bucky's rough plan—three weeks, Romania, check in, on to Turkey, Georgia, Russia, checking in when he can. The information they're working on is outdated by five years at best and decades at worst, so when he gets to Russia—assuming Steve and Kate aren't under house arrest or surveillance and the world hasn't gone to shit with the Accords—they'll join up.  

"Six months, maybe, before they're all in the same place again. At least this time, it's not an open-ended question mark as to  _if_ they'll see each other again. Kate will admit she likes the certainty. 

"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," Bucky warns them. 

"How can we?" Steve says, the familiar refrain. "You're taking all the stupid with you." 

"I don't even remember the last time I did something stupid." Kate adds. 

"That's because you had a head injury," Bucky points out, looking, for just a flash, like he's seriously reconsidering leaving. 

"I stand corrected," Steve says, sighing. "Clearly, the stupid is staying right here with me." 

"Hey!" 

=*= 

Kate's starting to feel like Tony is running a focus group, only he's not listening and his product isn't changing at all. It's still the same dumpster fire as before and it still has Thunderdome Ross' grimy fingerprints all over it, and it's still causing half of her team to storm out in a rage.  

Kate has waited long enough that she feels it's classified as  _exiting with purpose_ more than it is  _storming off_ , but these things aren't an exact science.  

She's managing a fairly haughty sweep when Tony grabs her arm, her momentum swinging her back around to stare at him. Tony is not a grabby sort of person; Tony also  _knows better_ , so Kate doesn't feel even the slightest bit guilty for giving him a good hard shove to the chest. 

"This is about making people feel safe, Kate. Why are you so against that?" 

"Safe? My opposition has nothing to do with other people feeling safe, Tony. It has to do with registration. What happens after that?" 

"Nothing. We put our names on a list." 

"Identification is how it starts!" She frowns, feeling distinctly like she's quoting someone but can't place who. "First it's names on a list. Then it's check-ins. Then it's tracking devices. All so they can keep tabs on us? We're not criminals! Well.  _Most_  of us aren't. That's how it starts, and then it becomes putting us all on a nice little plot of land just for  _people like us_? You  _know_ why this is terrifying, Tony. What I don't get is why you aren't scared." 

"That's not what this will be like." 

"Really? Then what's it going to be like, Tony, because I'm really struggling with that, here."  She stares at him, nonplussed. "It feels like a trap, like a—a trick. That we have to have registration to have military security." 

"But you  _do_." 

"But  _why?"_ Kate echoes his tone. "If you asked me if I think I should have unlimited power to undertake military operations my answer is no! I put garlic salt in my coffee this morning because I thought it was cinnamon sugar. I should  _not_ have unchecked military power. That's just. That's dumb. And it's a completely separate issue from registration. " 

"I get it, kid, okay?" Tony clasps her shoulders and he  _believes_. "But we gotta get out ahead of this thing. We play ball now, we can negotiate later. We'll have goodwill--" 

Kate can't believe what she's hearing. Out of  _Tony's_ mouth, no less. A man who has actually dealt with the government—or maybe that's the reality of dealing with governments when you're giving them weapons. Maybe they do work with you.  

"I just. I literally can't believe that you're staring me in the face and telling me to trust that the government isn't going to go back on their promises. I literally, I am standing here, witnessing this happen, Tony, and I still can't believe it. Are you being possessed by Andrew Jackson or some shit?" 

Tony reels back like she's slapped him. "That's  _not_ what's going to happen. I promise. I  _promise,_ Kate, okay? I won't let that happen." 

"How? How do you have any say in what they actually make the legislation, Tony?" Kate shakes her head again. "I know you mean well. I do. But this isn't the answer." 

"Then what is?" 

Kate turns away from him, staring at the detritus left by her team—crumpled muffin papers and wadded-up napkins, empty paper cups and half-full water bottles. "Tell me the truth, Tony. If we did somehow manage to solve that problem here, would it matter? Would anyone listen?" 

Tony opens his mouth. Closes it. Sighs. 

"Yeah." Kate smiles at him, small and sad and defeated. "Yeah, that's what I thought." 

=*= 

"You sure you don't want backup?"  

Kate doesn't like being left behind, and she's trying really hard not to feel abandoned. This is just how their lives are. It's fine. She and David are being left behind and since they will be left to their own devices, nobody's going to warn them against coming up with some ethically questionable contingencies should the Accords start looking more likely. If Ross thought they'd tried to tank his career before.... _Ain't_ _Seen Nothing Yet_ starts playing ominously in the back of Kate's head. 

"We can handle this. Wanda'll do fine." Steve hesitates, clearly torn about telling her something. "We think—well, it's probably Rumlow but we're not sure, all we know is one of the guys in charge is a former STRIKE team member." 

Kate's lungs stop working, her ears roar and it's an eternity but Steve's palm is warm against her neck, grounding her. "I could still go. I can handle it." 

"You don't have to be the brave one all the time, you know?" 

Kate manages a watery, shaky chuckle. "We never agreed I was the brave one. I'm the smart one." 

"I thought I was the smart one." 

That gets a real laugh from her. "No. You're the pretty, artistic one. Like Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge." 

"I think I can live with that." 

"Well, have fun in Lagos," she says, full of false cheer. She pulls him close, tucking her face against his neck, breathing deep.  

Everything is going to be fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Righty-o! So as we near the Civil War Bits of this fic, I'm acutely aware of the fact that Infinity War...exists. I'm probably not going to see it until after I finish this, because I know if I see it before then I'll feel compelled to take it into account and _never fucking finish_ this fic  
>  but I'm just. I'm so goddamn excited for the next few chapters. You're all going to HATE me.
> 
> Also, PHEW. I feel like this is one of the more info-dumpy chapters, but I couldn't see my way around it at this point--one of my main goals has been to set things up for Civil War so that they...are both valid sides? I think that's one of the movie's biggest failings. In the comics, Civil War (the original, not Civil War: Minority Report) is such a big deal because it affects so many people. It's not just about oversight, it's about the rights of people with abilities or powers to be private citizens, it's about personal liberty and freedoms and fear, whereas the movie was a debate about if a group of people should be trusted to act in the best interests of the world...and also Bucky Barnes. Now, don't get me wrong, Steve Rogers fighting an entire war for Bucky is absolutely believable, but Capturing Bucky and All Supers Need to Register With the Government and Super Teams Need Supervision are very different objectives, and I'm definitely leaning more into the comics with this.  
> Anyway, since the MCU has their entire universe set up so that secret identities aren't as big of a deal, the main focus of their Civil War was boiled down to military power, and (hopefully) what I've managed to do is build a believable case that registration and the Accords encompass more than just an individual's right to undertake military actions or fight crime.  
> If anything is super confusing, please let me know! Hopefully most of it will become clear in the next...three...chapters?...but I don't want anyone stuck here going "ok wtf did you do to the political clime of this world".  
> EDIT: I have, unfortunately, started to rewatch CW and I have NO IDEA why my brain decided the fuckup mission at the beginning of the movie was in LAOS because it is, in fact, in LAGOS. Whoops. I just enjoy saying Laos more, maybe? So if I make that mistake anywhere feel free to point it out to me. I seem to be having a great deal of trouble with place names this month.


	14. Run Boy Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's like bringing a lawyer to a knife-fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the role of Natasha Romanov will be played in part by Cassie Lang, because I have Decreed it.  
> Also I don't buy any of this "Aunt Peggy" stuff, Sharon Carter was raised by her two moms Peggy Carter and Angie Martinelli, I physically cannot write her any other way.

"Okay." Kate stares at the spreadsheet, the numbers swimming in front of her eyes. "What am I looking at, here?" 

"I don't know. That's why I asked for your help." David peers at her. "Why do you look like shit?" 

"Well, first of all, thanks, and second of all, until the world comes crashing down around us, we do still need to work. We still have a business to run." She gives him a look that is hopefully less pointedly judgmental than she feels, but like. Dude. They're in this together. 

His eyes narrow. "You're thinking  _we're all in this together_ , aren't you?" 

"That's not fair." 

"I'll say. You start thinking it and it winds up stuck in  _my_ head, how's that fair?" 

He doesn't complain, though, when Kate steals his ice-cold cup of coffee. Kate grimaces as she crunches on granules of sugar, a lot even for David. "When was the last time you slept?" 

"When was the last time  _you_ slept?" He counters.  

"The last time you slept," she retorts. "We should just accept that we're both card-carrying members of My-boyfriend-is-a-superhero-and-he-stresses-me-the-fuck-out club and hang together when they go promote justice and freedom and stuff." 

"And stuff," David echoes, scrubbing his face with his hand. "You've got two idiots out there. How are you not freaking out?" 

"Who says I'm not?" Kate stands, squeezing David's shoulder before moving over to the coffee maker. The routine of dumping out the old pot, throwing away the old grounds; fitting a fresh filter in and scooping out grounds is calming. Kate is pretty sure neither of them actually need caffeine but there's comfort in repetition, in familiar smells and sounds. "Also, I took about a million pictures of philandering spouses, so, you know. That's pretty numbing." 

"Yeah, maybe I should have gone with you. I wish my brain would shut up." 

"Well, listen in. My brain is full of cotton, let me be your white noise machine." 

Kate listens to the drip of the coffee maker. 

"Sometimes I hate you. You realize your white noise is All Star by Smashmouth, right?" 

Kate hums tunelessly, only realizing when David continues to glare at her that it is, in fact, a tune-ful hum, and that he's right. It's Smashmouth. 

"Sorry." She presses her lips together, forcing herself to be quiet as the coffee brews.  

"Hey. Kate, come take a look at this." 

Kate does, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. "Right. What am I looking at?" 

David points at a line of information. "This. Two days after Howard Stark died, this SHIELD facility registered an 084. No other information. Not where they found it, not how they got it, not what it was. Just the dimensions." 

"The size of a briefcase?" 

David nods. "But then—on all the other inventories done for that base—nothing. It's gone. I thought it was a clerical error at first, but then I noticed who was in charge of that base." 

"Quick question: do I wanna know?" 

"Well, he's dead, so...." 

Kate rolls her eyes and tugs the ledger over to her. "Alexander  _Pierce_?" She shrieks. It's—yeah, it's a shriek, despite her best intentions.  

"Yeah. So...I'm wondering if he gave the command for Barnes to go after Stark? I don't know if he was high up enough to give the command, and it seems a little too tidy, but...it's a possibility." 

Kate is only half paying attention to David, her focus caught on something a few lines down. "Your turn," she shoves the book back to David. "Notice anything weird?" 

"No? Unless that shipment to Russia is supposed to be weird." 

"It's a shipment to Russia in '91. Why was SHIELD sending care packages to Russia in '91, David?" 

"Well, it's not like Hydra cares about international borders. They're sort of equal-opportunity bastards." 

"I'm not disagreeing, but what if--" the words don't come easy, floating around in the cottony recesses of Kate's mind, not wanting to congeal into concrete ideas. "What if—we have Bucky, right, the original Hydra-programmed supersoldier. And then we have Cassie. Better technology, combat training from a young age, but not as violent as, like, the Red Room. The Widows and Cassie, they're the beta test. Wanda and Pietro, they're the ideal version, not early access any more, they're ready to go to consumers—I feel like my metaphors are falling apart, here." 

"No, I get what you're saying and I don't care for that shit  _at all_ ," David informs her. "You're saying that Bucky and Cassie and the Maximoffs are represent evolutions of how Hydra created supersoldiers. And considering the huge difference between Bucky and the Maximoffs—even  _Cassie_ and the Maximoffs—they're probably. A lot more people Hydra injected with supersoldier serum and may or may not have brainwashed." 

"You can see the science in it," Kate says, her voice faint even to her ears. "Them trying to brainwash people into compliance. Brainwashing into thinking they'd volunteered. The progression--I sort of thought Bucky was off on a wild goose chase, but now..." she thinks for a moment. "It's possible Hydra has been using these other supersoldiers and we just don't know it. I wonder if they've been brainwashed, too." 

"But why didn't it work for the Red Room when it worked for Strucker? My understanding about the Red Room is that Black Widows all believed they were there for the glory of the motherland, or whatever. And a ton of them defected. Well, enough to destroy the secrecy of the institution." 

"We don't know that given enough time the Maximoffs would have defected, too," she argues. "And—maybe the key was the scepter. Maybe science could only take them so far." 

"Do you think," David starts, hesitating, like he's edging out on ice he's not sure will hold his weight. "Do you think Hydra ever asked for volunteers? Actual volunteers? It can't be out of the realm of possibility, our side had volunteers for supersoldier programs." 

"Well, there's a terrifying thought." 

David raises a curious eyebrow.  

"Dr. Erskine—before he injected Steve with the serum, he said that good becomes great, bad becomes worse. Erskine made a point to pick someone whose good outweighed the bad. That's why Red Skull happened. He was rotten to the core, I guess. Even with a watered-down version of the serum, you have to wonder..." She trails off, catching David's eye. "What?" 

"Sorry, I'm just hung up on the fact that you're implying Captain America has amplified bad qualities." 

"Look, I love Steve to pieces but he's a sarcastic shit who never met a fight he didn't like.  But imagine if the bad qualities weren't pigheadedness but ruthlessness, or coldness, or an ability to kill without remorse." 

Kate goes back to examining the paperwork, pretending she can't feel the weight of David's gaze on her, waiting for him to find words for his question.  

"So you're saying the serum that Erskine developed—it can't make someone something they aren't. Whatever qualities it enhances are already there." 

"That was what Erskine thought, so yeah, it's what I think." 

"So you think Barnes has always had it in him to be a stone-cold killer?" 

Kate sits back, surprised both by the question and the fact she didn't see it coming.  

"Or Cassie?" He adds. 

"I don't think it's that simple," she finally says. She thinks about this—not a lot, but more than she'd like, so at least her answer is coherent. "I think if either of them were dyed-in-the-wool killers, we'd know it. The serum would amplify that. With them—maybe it's more of a survival instinct. They both do what they need to survive. Steal, kill—they don't if they don't have to, but they can, and they can do it, could do it, with less compunction than, say, you or I. 

"I didn't know Bucky or Steve before the serum, but we did know Cassie. And she was always fast. Quick to trust, to sign on for a plan, to throw herself into a fight." 

"You're saying those are bad qualities?" 

"I'm saying those are qualities, and whatever she had done to her may have amplified them." Kate shifts, uncomfortable. She doesn't like these musings when they're in her own head and she doesn't like them any better spoken aloud, hanging in the room.  

David, for his part, lets it go, and Kate is thankful for that, happy to sit in silence and slowly add to the packet of information they're putting together to give to a sympathetic reporter. 

David has put his earbuds back in, so Kate doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty about humming again. It is, unfortunately,  _Star-Spangled Man_ _With_ _A Plan_ , but there's nobody listening to make fun of her, so. Whatever. 

This goes on for a while, maybe an hour, before David pulls out an earbud. "Who's your favorite teammate?" 

"You....are?" She gives the answer she's clearly being prompted for. 

"Yeah I am. Guess what I just found." 

Kate thinks for a second before she realizes what it is—what she hopes it is—and her eyes widen. "You found the audio?" 

David grins. "Ninety seconds of then-General Ross saying he doesn't care if Harlem is a hole in the ground as long as he gets Banner. And—thirty seconds of the same sentiment about Blonsky in Baker's Glen." 

"David, I want to kiss you square on the mouth." 

"Slow your roll, lady. You've already got two boyfriends." 

=*= 

Kate and David stop pretending to be okay when the news starts to trickle in about Lagos.  

Life is a flurry of texts and unexpected visitors dropping in, making sure everyone's doing okay emotionally and that they all have information, that they all know the Avengers are okay. 

Tommy says he's fine on his own, Billy has Teddy—but they're all so tangled up in each other now, them and he Avengers, a spider-silk web of connections both fragile and enduring. 

They're in this together, whether they want to be or not.  

Kate packs a thermos of coffee and twenty bagels and David into her car, and drives to the one place where it's okay to not be okay. 

She's sleeping fitfully on the couch, when she's startled awake by something—some _one_ sitting on her legs. 

"Is mamotchka all right?" 

Kate blinks the sleep from her eyes and breathes the startled panic out of her muscles. "She's gonna be fine, Coop. She'll need some quiet time when she gets back, and then lots of hugs." 

In the faint light, she can see him nod. "Like we used to have to do. Tommy was just a baby last time, he might mess up." 

"Well, then, you'll have to be really nice and explain to him, right?" Kate sits up, grabbing her phone and inwardly groaning at what she sees. "Coop, bud, It's really really late. You should go back to bed." 

He sniffles. "I can't sleep." 

"Did you watch the news like your momma told you not to?" 

A telltale pause. "Yes." 

" _Cooper_." 

"I wanted to know! I'm not a baby anymore. I can watch the news." 

He  _is_ still a baby. He'll always be a baby in the back of Kate's head, but he's legitimately still a child right now. Kate sits up and pulls him into her side. They're  _all_ babies, Cooper and Lila and little Tommy, what the hell had Natasha been thinking--what had  _Steve_ been thinking? Natasha shouldn't have gone on this mission. "Well, looks like neither of us are getting any sleep tonight. What do you think? Hot chocolate and rice krispie treats, or lemonade and popcorn?" 

"It's not winter, we can't have hot chocolate." 

"Uh, excuse you, little man, we can have hot chocolate whenever we want." 

=*= 

She and David stay with Clint, Nick, and Laura until they get word that the Avengers are headed home—not wanting to intrude on the Barton household. Their drive to the compound eats up some of the restless hours, the rest spent pacing the common areas, bumping into Tommy and Pietro, occasionally Cassie and Noh. 

When Steve comes home—and he  _comes home_ , that's the important part, Kate had watched the grainy security footage David found her until it was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids, something she saw every time she closed her eyes, of a man who was not Jack Rollins trying to kill him—he smells like sweat and smoke, dust and blood. 

She inspects him for nonexistent wounds—everything's healed by now. He hangs on to her like a limpet as she pulls out food, arms wrapped around her waist as she shuffles through the kitchen. Kate doesn't ask questions, she doesn't make him rehash the mission, not yet.  

This might be the last place where Captain America has the luxury of just being Steve Rogers, and nobody's going to take that away from him, least of all her. 

 

The first thing he says in twelve hours is "I'm sorry," to which Kate replies with an irritated "what the fuck are you apologizing for?" As if Brock Rumlow bringing a bomb into a crowded marketplace was his fault, or that Wanda has a self-preservation instinct that prompted her to do something that would prevent their deaths.  

The second thing Steve says is "You should have come. You were right," to which Kate's reply is silence, because who knows if she could have changed the outcome? 

The third thing Steve says to her is "I love you," and that, frankly, makes a lot more sense to Kate than the apology. 

"I love you, too," she tells him, foreheads pressed together.  

>>>\----> 

"It's going to happen, isn't it?" Billy sits next to her, every movement like he weighs a million pounds. "They're going to sign the Accords." 

"They might give us some wiggle room--" Kate is silenced by Billy's look of disbelief. "But, yeah. They're probably going to sign them, registration and all. Over a hundred countries are in agreement, which is interesting from like, and international standpoint?" 

"Yeah, it's thrilling how fear makes everyone join together." Billy leans heavily against her side. "What are we going to do?" 

 _I don't know!_  She wants to scream.  _I'm just as terrified as you are!_  

"I don't know," she admits. "But we do better as a team, and we'll figure it out as a team." 

"I should go help David make us fake IDs, then?" 

"You know, that's not a bad idea." 

Kate drapes her arm over his shoulder pulling him in for a hug. "Don't worry, Billy. We'll figure it out." 

"Heads up, people, the show's about to start!" David hollers, drawing them all into the nerve center of their makeshift headquarters: specifically, a breakroom-type-room that they've comandeered. He's tapped them into the Avenger's cameras, so they can see and hear what Secretary of State Ross has to say from the other side of the Avengers compound, since all involved decided it was a good idea for  Ross  _not_ to see them all chummy with the Avengers.  

It's for the best, considering that Ross probably would have black-bagged them for their running commentary. It ranges from Billy pointing out that the Battle of New York was technically SHIELD's fault and that the fall of SHIELD was Hydra's fault to Tommy shouting "Leave our mommy alone, asshole!" Tommy, who was always the too-cool-for-school-parents-drool kind of guy has taken to having a mother with gusto. 

It's when Ross asks Steve if he knows where Banner and Thor are that the team rises as one, full of righteous fury. 

"You  _fuckhead_!" Kate shouts. "You lost Banner  _first_ , motherfucker!" 

"Maybe Banner wouldn't be so damn skittish if you thought of him as a  _person_ and not a nuke!" Teddy is also shouting at the television.  

Tommy's cry of "Leave Doc out of it, jackwad!" almost drowns out Cassie's stunned, "What, seriously?" And Billy's "Fucking  _white men_ , unbelievable." 

They're all so busy yelling that they almost miss it. They almost miss Steve looking Ross dead in the eye and saying, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Secretary, but you're the one who lost Banner in the first place." 

The room goes deathly still. The room on the screen is quiet. 

"That's not what we're here to talk about, Captain Rogers." 

"You brought it up, Mr. Secretary. I can't help but think it's relevant." 

"Kate," Tommy says, breaking the silence on their end as across the compound the debate continues on. "When Ross leaves, can I kiss your boyfriend?" 

=*= 

"I have an equation," Vision says, and the room groans. Ross has been gone less than an hour and the group is still as divided as its ever been. But they listen as Vision tells them about it, about how the number of known enhanced persons has increased since Tony declared himself Iron Man, says things about the presence of the Avengers inciting challenge, and Kate and David sigh as one. 

"You're using faulty reasoning, Viz." David leans forward, hands on his knees. "It's not that people with powers—enhanced people—it's not like they weren't there to begin with. Maybe the Avengers gave them confidence or made them feel entitled to step out. But those people—not all of them are hazards. They're just regular people who want to live regular lives." 

"It's like when Stonewall kicked off the LGBT rights movement," Billy adds. "It's not like gay people didn't exist before then. It's not like bi people were an invention on the nineties. A group of people finally said 'hey assholes, this is who I am, I'm here and I've been here the whole time'. And the community made language evolve to encompass them." 

Steve folds his hands on the table, giving Billy a piercing look. "You're saying enhanced people have existed before." 

"Look at history. Look at myths." Billy shrugged. "I mean, the atomic age ushered in a whole new era of--" he pauses, glances at David, who offers a bare shake of his head. Nobody seems to notice but Kate. "An era of technology and enhancements," he concludes.  

Something floats through Kate's mind, a half-forgotten speech, heard often and ingrained from repetition  _...is what took us from singl_ _e-celled organisms to the dominant_ _life form_ _..._ dredged up from some dark corner of her mind and fading fast. The memory brings with it the smell of fresh-mown grass, glossy red hair and an archery lesson, and people whose faces she can't quite recall. She  _always_ remembers faces, so what's-- 

David kicks her hard under the table, and she draws her focus back to the problem at hand. The problem, which is Tony showing them of a man who died while they were dealing with Ultron in Sokovia, the problem that is Rhodey saying Steve is following a dangerous line of thought-- 

The problem is none of them understanding what this feel like—that it's a taste, on the back of her tongue, like pulverized concrete, that feels like oversight is just another chance for someone to throw you out of the game because you asked too many questions or got too close to a secret, it's Tony and Rhodey, and even Sam and Wanda and Vision, not understanding what it's like to trust an organization, to trust leaders and believe—truly believe—that they want what's best for the world.  

That the problem is doing what you were told—what you were asked—because you believed in something bigger than you, that you took it as a given that someone knew better than you.  

The problem is knowing that people you trusted didn't deserve that trust. It's none of them knowing what It's like to have that faith devoured in front of your eyes. 

It's wondering if things you did while you held that faith were wrong, or misguided, or evil.  

Kate knows she's not the ultimate authority on this  _because_ she has these questions.  

But she'll be damned if she ever follows like that again, if she ever trusts blindly and lets someone tell her they're doing things to make her better and stronger when all they want is a finely-crafted weapon-- 

And that's the heart of the problem. 

"You know what bothers me about this?" Kate interrupts the conversation. Billy raises an eyebrow at her, as if to say  _one_ _thing_? "Is that, through all this—Ross isn't thinking of enhanced individuals as  _people_. Oh, he might think you guys are people, because you're in the room with him—but comparing Bruce and Thor to nukes—enhanced individuals aren't people to him. They're weapons. And I can't help but be afraid of how many people in the UN think just like he does." 

"We are weapons," Tony says, and he doesn't think about it, about the layers of meaning to what he's saying, and just for a second, Kate hates him for it. 

"We," she says, slowly and firmly. "Are.  _People_. And thinking that human beings are weapons first and foremost is dangerously close to Hydra or the Red Room. We are human beings. Enhanced people are human beings, not weapons to be shaped and molded and tempered--"  _like steel like_ _iron you_ _have to go through the fire to be any good, softened so you can be hammered into the right shape you have to be broken so we can build you back up the right way--_  

"Katie." Tony sits next to her, taking her hands in his, turning her so she's facing him. "If we don't do this now, It'll be done  _to_  us later." 

His words hit her like a slap. 

"If we do it now, at least we have a say. At least we can change things from the inside." 

"You're saying they'll come for me," Wanda pipes in, her voice flat. 

"We would protect you," Vision is quick to assure her, and Tommy responds with a broken laugh. 

"How, dude? If the UN, or whatever special governing body they put over us, decide that they're going to take her, are you going to violate those rules by standing in their way? She's right. If they decide to take any one of us, they'll have rules in place that prevent us from taking a stand against that." A muscle in his jaw tics. "They'll put us in cages." Tommy. Who has been caged before, has reason to fear this. Wanda reaches out a hand and he takes it, stilling enough to sit next to her. " _I_ won't let them take you, mama." 

Wanda pats his cheek. "You're a good boy, Tommy. But I don't want you to get in trouble for me, do you understand?" 

Cassie clears her throat, hesitant. "I think Tony's right. If we have one hand on the wheel—at least we can still steer." 

Everyone turns to look at her, and now Cassie is visibly nervous. "Look, you—we—there have been some very visible mistakes. We need to win back their trust." 

"Whoa, wait a second," Teddy holds his hands up. "Who is  _we_ , here? What mistakes? What were we supposed to do in Sokovia? Were we supposed to sit on our asses during the Battle of New York? What was the better option?" 

Tommy raises his hand. "Not build Ultron." 

Teddy reaches back for a high five before continuing with, "And that wasn't a  _group_ mistake, so let's stop saying that the mistakes of  _individuals_ need to be fixed by the  _group_." 

"We are a team," Kate points out. "The good comes back on all of us just like the bad, and if we're not willing to stand together--" 

"Except Ultron was not a group choice at all and if Stark had a decent bone in his body he'd say that in front of the UN--" 

The argument does not get more civil from there. It does, indeed, escalate to a shouting match, one that Steve excuses himself from and is only stopped when David pulls his phone out. 

"Guys," David says, his voice barely audible over their din. "Guys. Guys!  _Shut up!"_  

David doesn't ever yell, so they shut up. 

"Guys, Sharon just texted me—Director Carter died in her sleep." 

They fall silent, and Kate's heart is in her throat.  

It's Tommy who moves first, Tommy who goes to the alcohol stash and tells Eli to grab a bunch of glasses, who leads them out on the pristine lawn, leaving a stunned Tony and a confused Wanda in their wake. It's Tommy who pours them all a measure of gin, who holds the bottle up in salute.  

"To Agent Pegs." 

They all knock back their drinks with varying amounts of gagging and then Tommy upends the bottle. "Travel well, Director." 

It's a good legacy, Kate supposes. That a room full of people can be shouting at one another and the mention of your name brings them all back together. 

=*= 

David is helping Sharon with the funeral arrangements, because he's a good person like that, and Kate wonders, not for the first time, What Happened There, If Anything.  

David is good at being in charge, delegating tasks—he's commanded Kate to deal with the press as best she can, which involves a lot of "no comment"s and helping Sharon and David write Peggy's obit—the real one and the redacted one that's probably going to be vetted by the NSA or CIA or another alphabet organization. 

It's strange, writing it, realizing how much they knew but didn't know about Director Carter. She'd been before their time, but she'd still had a hand in SHIELD operations, even after she retired. Tommy remembers her posting bail for him once; David remembers the first time she discovered him hacking SHIELD servers; Cassie tells the story of when she and Hank Pym had run into Peggy and the shouting match that ensued; how she taught Kate to cheat at cards and the time she demonstrated how to incapacitate a man using only a stapler. 

None of that can get printed, of course, but it's nice to tell the stories and it's nice to see Sharon laugh.  

It would be quite enough to deal with on its own, but, unfortunately, that's not how the world works.  

Maybe it's because of what happened in Lagos, or maybe Ross is really convincing, or maybe, somehow, Cassie actually believe in the Accords. 

All Kate knows is that she's two hours in to helping Sharon figure out how to dig up her other mom, Angie, and have her remains sent to England so that she and Peggy can be buried together, and that it's all sufficiently gross and traumatic and bureaucratically frustrating, when Tommy sends a group text that simply states  _turn on the news right fucking now_ , and they do. 

 _Breaking news!_  the television tells them.  _Enhanc_ _ed_ _individual, former Hydra assassin, comes out in favor of Registration!_  

Kate's first thought is  _what the FUCK, Bucky_ , and her second thought is  _shit, this is worse_ , because the person who steps out in front of the cameras is-- 

"My name," she says, "is Cassandra Lang. When I was fourteen, I joined a group of superpowered individuals. We were later recruited by SHIELD." 

"No." Kate collapses on the couch between Sharon and David, unable to believe what she's seeing. 

"The official record states that I died in the battle of New York," Cassie continues. "But clearly, that's incorrect. Hydra took me, and they programed me to be a living weapon. You might wonder why I'm telling you this. Several months ago, this programming Hydra gave me—made me try to kill a dear friend, and it was only through luck that I didn't. I'm telling you this because people like me—people like us—need to have someone watching us. Making sure we're not hurting others. There are many aspects to the Accords. Many things that should be debated, and things that should be changed. But at their core, the Accords are here to protect people—to protect ordinary people. And I feel that it's my duty to support them." 

A question, shouted by a reporter. "How do you know she's telling the truth?" 

Secretary of State Ross inserts himself between Cassie and the podium, between Cassie and the reporters. "I have personally vetted the information given to us by Miss Lang and can attest to its accuracy." 

"Are you still dangerous?" Someone yells. "Who else was on your team?" 

"What are your powers?" 

"Who else was on your team?" 

The questions echo, repeat, repeat, and Ross hustles Cassie away from the media. 

Kate's phone buzzes, and again, and again, an almost continuous vibration in her hand, and she can't even put her thoughts into words. 

>>>\-----> 

"You're not Ben Urich." 

"Nice catch." 

"He dead?" 

"What? No! I mean, Wilson Fisk tried to kill him, so he sued Fisk for a ton of money, now he mostly mentors me." Karen Page shoots Kate a sideways glance. "But you knew all that already, didn't you?" 

Kate shrugs. They are quiet as a jogger passes in front of their benches. 

"So what am I doing here?" Karen Page asks. 

"Ben Urich had some...theories. About who I am, who some of my friends are. He tell you any of these theories?" 

Karen Page shakes her head, gives a small bob of her shoulders. "Not that I'm aware of." 

"God, I hope you can lie better than that in real life." 

"This isn't real life?" 

"This is just fantasy," Kate assures her. 

Karen Page's lips twitch. "Are you caught in a landslide? No escape from reality?" 

"I appreciate the joke, but yes, actually." Kate slides a bulging envelope across the bench.  

"What is it?" Karen Page asks, eyes trained forward the entire time. 

"Some very unflattering information about Thaddeus Ross to do with as you please." Kate waits until a group of moms jogging with strollers has passed them. "Among other things. I know it'll take you time to verify the information, but the stuff about Ross—feel free to keep that quiet until the right moment." 

"And how will I know it's the right moment?" 

"Well, I certainly won't be able to tell you because when the moment comes I'll either be dead or incarcerated." Kate plasters on a smile, trying and probably failing to put Karen Page, reporter, at ease. "You'll know. If you don't feel it out fast enough, someone will let you know." 

Karen drops her newspaper on top of the envelope before scooping up the whole pile and tucking it into the recesses of her purse. 

"He's the Secretary of State," Karen Page ventures. "Are you sure you want to do this?" 

"What, does he scare you?" Kate fires back. "The man only lectured us about Schelling's Theory of Rational Deterrence, oh,  _every_ time we saw him. Apparently, he never thought the lesson took." 

"Rational deterrence? What does that have to do with—this?" 

"There is information that people have held on to about Ross because they didn't want to upend the lives they'd carefully built after he tore them down. If he's going to tear their lives down anyway, there's no point in keeping the secrets." 

"Ah. Mutually assured destruction." 

"There's something else in there," Kate starts, haltingly. "I don't know if it's relevant anymore, but Urich might want it. An article in there that he started to write before SHIELD confiscated it. He really believed there was more than one team on the ground during the Battle of New York. Even hired a PI to help him try to find the other people." Kate stands, contemplates which direction to go. "The writing's a little clunky, but it's interesting." 

"And what am I supposed to do with that?" 

"Oh, come on, Karen Page! You're an investigative journalist. A whistleblower! I'm sure you can figure it out." 

"And what about you, Hawkeye? You sure you'll be okay once this gets out?" 

Welp. Should have seen that one coming.  

"I'll be fine." 

"How did you find out about me?" 

Kate stretches. Page is a decent reporter, but she's not a household name by any means, so it's a fair question. "I know this might sound rich coming from me, but. You have some weird friends, Ms. Page." 

>>>\-----> 

Kate and David fly out to London with Sharon--and Peggy and Angie. Sharon's thanked them way too many times and Kate doesn't mean to be rude, but after a while it's just ridiculous and instead of  _you'_ _re_ _welcome_ , she says, "Shut the fuck up, dude, you're our friend, no way were we letting you go through this alone." 

"What Kate  _means_ is you're welcome," David cuts in. 

"I'm pretty sure she didn't," Sharon says, but she smiles, so it's a wash. 

"Also, Peggy Carter meant a lot to a lot of people, but if anyone tries to imply that their loss is greater than yours, I'm going to punch them in the face, if that's okay." 

"I think mom would be a little disappointed if nobody wound up with a black eye at her funeral." Sharon looks out the window. The CIA or MI6 or someone loaned her a very nice plane, so they're the only passengers. "Is Tommy coming?" 

"No, he wanted to stay and keep an eye on Wanda," David answers. "She's been in a funk since the Lagos mission and he's worried about her." 

"I was hoping he'd come but I get it," Sharon admits. "He used to break mom out of the nursing home, before the Alzheimer's got too bad, did you know that? They'd just go walking along the Mall or play chess." 

"I did not know that," David says. "That's very Tommy, though." 

=*= 

The funeral is as funerals are, sad and exhausting. David and Kate have Sharon sandwiched firmly between them, studiously not making eye contact with Sam and Steve, who are sitting on the other side of the church. Time passes in a strange blur of kleenex and hands squeezed too tight, and then it's over, Kate and David left huddled under an umbrella in a cemetery.  

"Don’t," Kate warns as David opens his mouth. "You're going to get all philosophical about death and I can't right now, man." 

David freezes, mouth open like a fresh-caught fish. "You don't know me." 

"Okay then. Tell me what you were going to say, but you're not allowed to say it if it was something about the fleeting nature of life, or making every moment count, or leaving a lasting legacy." 

David makes a noise that sounds a bit like the air being let out of a balloon. "I was going to say that we've been friends for too long but I think the real issue here is that we've gone to too many funerals together and that's just. That's really, actually sad." 

"Yeah." Kate slings her arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, dude, it really is. Hey, where's Steve?" 

"He's walking Sharon back to her hotel. They're having a moment. Did he not know she's Peggy's kid?" 

"I thought he did but he's sure acting like it's new information." Kate tips her head back with a sigh. "She had so many secrets." 

"She was queer in like, the Dark Ages. What did you expect?" 

"You know that's one of the reasons she liked us so much, right?" Kate glances at David out of the corner of her eye. "Did she ever say that to you?" 

"Say what?" 

"She'd say, 'you're the gayest thing I've ever seen—apart from my wife, of course!' And then she'd laugh like she'd said the funniest thing ever." 

David stares at her. "She did not. You're bullshitting me." 

"I am not! Ask Billy if you don't believe me." 

They walk along, leaning against each other, ducking into a tea shop to have what the menu assures them is  _tea_ but really feels a lot like breakfast. Loki would probably debate that due to the lack of breakfast meats, but Loki is also weirdly invested in bacon for an alien god. 

"Do you think it's weird that the UN is meeting to ratify the Accords today?" David says once he's grown tired of laughing at Kate's attempt to figure out scones. 

"Yeah, I thought for sure they'd push it back out of respect for Carter." Kate puts her phone down. Cream first,  _then_ jam on the scone. "But it's a lot of world leaders, maybe it was too hard to reschedule. What?" David is giving her a Look. "What, like our team doesn't throw a bitchfit if we have to reschedule meetings, and that's like. Ten people tops." 

"Yeah, I guess. It's just making me uncomfortable." 

"Uncomfortable how? Uncomfortable like a general creeping unease about legislation that's about to upend our lives or uncomfortable like shit's about to go down at SHIELD but you don't know what?" 

"The second one. No, the first one. No, it's definitely both." 

"You want to break down the second one?" 

"Yeah. Let's do that." 

"Okay." Kate squints, staring at nothing. "It's the UN, so there's tons of security. It's not a meeting of train enthusiasts at your local Denny's. So, it'd be really hard to breach security." 

"I'm sure that's what people thought about SHIELD." 

"Okay, fair point." 

"What would be the point, though?" David muses. "If you attack the UN Security Council, what's the point? The Accords are already going to be ratified. If you're against the Accords and you pull something, you've just strengthened your opponent's position. If you're pro-Accords, there's no point, unless you plan to push more stringent measures while blaming whatever you did on enhanced individuals." 

"Even then, that doesn't help anything. They don't have an accurate idea of who they would need to look out for, and if anything, the Accords are going to drive the enhanced even further underground." 

"This is all conjecture." David covers his eyes with his hand. "And it's dumb, I'm sorry. I'm just paranoid." 

"It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you," Kate points out. "Maybe we're just looking at this from the wrong perspective." 

"What's the right one?" 

"The Accords are happening. Doesn't matter if you like it or not, it is what it is. But they don't really have teeth. I mean, you can tell people to register til you're blue in the face, but that doesn't mean people will, or that they'll even understand that their abilities are beyond normal." 

"But if you want power," David continues. "If you want—wow, that's ironic." 

"What?" 

"If you want unsupervised power, unchecked power, you make us the enemy. You make us the violent enemy." 

"Oh, ew. Are you saying Ross wants a superhuman Gitmo?" 

"I'm saying he probably has a superhuman Gitmo, now he just needs an all-clear to use it." 

"That sort of thing works better if you get Steve out of the picture," Kate muses.  

"Maybe that was the plan." David has his phone out. "Did you know the Accords weren't supposed to be signed this week?" 

"Wait, what?" 

"Holy  _shit_ ," David's eyes get wider and wider as he stares at the screen. "They were supposed to be open for public debate for another  _month_. Steve and Tony and Wanda were all supposed to be called to testify or sell their points or whatever." 

"When did that get pushed up? Are you sure?" 

"A week-a week and a half ago—the day Director Carter died. Ross asked that the vote be pushed up and in light of Cassie coming forward, there wouldn't be need for more testimony." 

"So Wanda and Steve and Tony—maybe Natasha and Vision and Sam—would have all been there at the same time?" Kate frowns. Ross is a lot of things, but he wouldn't kill valuable assets. That's not his style. 

"It's possible." 

She shakes her head, as if she can physically remove the idea from her brain. "You think we should call him? Give him a head's up that someone might pull something at the summit?" 

David just stares at his phone, eyes getting wider and wider before showing her what he's looking at. "I think someone already did." 

=*= 

 _"...identified as James Buchanan Barnes_..." 

"No." Kate is on her feet, not sure when she decided to stand. "That's bullshit. He wouldn't." 

Steve doesn't grab her, but he does move in front of her, using his shoulders to cut her off from the group. "Kate. You don't know that. We can't know that--" 

"Yes we  _do_ , Steve! That's not him. Not innocent people--" 

"We haven't seen him in months--" 

"And that. Was not.  _Him_. I know you're trying to be devil's advocate, look-at-all-the-proof-before-me Captain America but that's not who I need to talk to right now. I need Steve. And I need Steve to tell me that he knows Bucky didn't do this." Kate's voice breaks and she hates it. "That if Hydra somehow got a hold of him, that you know  _it wasn't Bucky who did this_." She stares at him so long and so hard his features start to blur. 

He squeezes her shoulder. "You're right. I'm sorry, you're right, whatever's going on here—Bucky wouldn't do that." 

"Yeah, bombing isn't really his style," David pipes in from the couch, his eyes still glued to the TV. "All those windows? He'd pick a point across the street and snipe them." 

"I hate that he's right," Steve mutters. "How fast do you think we can get to Vienna?" 

=*= 

Vienna is just a pit stop on the way to Bucharest, as it so happens. They've got insider intel courtesy of Sharon that puts them three steps ahead of a lot of angry people with guns who have permission to shoot on sight.  

"It's a smart move, really," David informs her, as if she wasn't aware that the best way to bring in a presumed-dangerous Bucky Barnes is with guns, assuming you couldn't convince Steve to help you. 

Sam is eyes in the sky; she and David are parked in an alleyway behind what is supposedly the building Bucky lives in. Kate hopes he's smart enough to not come back here if he knows people are looking for him.  

" _Heads up_ ," Sam says. " _German special forces approaching from the south._ " 

"Well that's a fun sentence." Kate makes sure her bow is strapped securely across her back before putting her helmet on. 

"You sure you don't want the car?" David asks. 

"Did you learn how to drive a motorcycle in the past five minutes?" 

" _Do you know me?"_ Steve asks. They can hear the response he gets, though faint:  _"You're Steve. Did you come alone?"_  

Steve says something, it might be  _she's outside,_ but Sam talks over them: " _They've_ _set the_ _perimeter_." 

" _You're here about Vienna. That wasn't me. I don't do that_ _any more_ _."_  

 _"I know. But people think you did, and they're coming here now. Buck, they're not planning on taking you alive."_  

 _"That's s_ _mart. Good strategy."_  

"See?" David calls from the car. "I said the same thing!" 

 _"Guys, they're on the roof, I'm compromised."_  

"Yeah, how the hell are we not?" Kate mutters. "What kind of damn perimeter--" 

 _"This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck."_  

 _"I think that's really goddamn rich_ _comin_ _' from you, Stevie."_  

And that's when German Special Forces breach, and chatter is drowned out by the sounds of gunfire which is followed by German Special Forces being flung out a window. 

 _"Really, man?"_ Steve snaps. 

Something else comes flying out of the window, landing on a neighboring roof. 

If it's what Kate thinks it is, she's never met a more durable backpack in her  _life_. 

=*= 

Something dark and  _huge_  flies over Kate's head.  

"Sam, what the fuck is that? Do you have visual?" 

"It's, uh...some guy in a cat suit?" 

"Are you  _kidding me_?" David spits. 

"Why would I kid about something like that? Barnes and the guy in the suit are still headed south, Hawkeye, there's an overpass--" 

"Got it." Kate kicks the motorcycle to life, roaring out onto the street. She can't follow the fighting on the roofs but she can follow Sam. 

The whole thing would probably be funny if it weren't people trying to kill Bucky—a foot chase in the middle of three lanes of traffic, the runners followed by cars.  

Kate swerves in front of and around the cop cars as much as possible, trying to slow them up, but she's nowhere near as effective as Steve simply throwing himself on top of one of the SUVs, causing it and the two behind it to screech to a stop. 

She pulls alongside the guy—who is indeed in what appears to be a catsuit--and has a split second of worry for him until she sees what his claws do to the hood of a car, tearing through the metal like it's tinfoil, using it as a launchpad to get a car length closer to Bucky. 

Kate promises herself she'll feel bad about this later, before gunning the motorcycle and running over him. It's like hitting a huge speedbump, jarring and bouncing her, and Kate swallows against the unpleasant feeling in the back of her throat. Sorry, catsuit dude. She's been hit by vehicles before and knows it sucks-- 

She barely has time to feel bad before she realizes she is no longer moving forward. A glance back reveals catsuit dude with his claws dug into the seat and the other reaching for her.  

"Oh, come  _on_!" She snaps. Nobody's supposed to be up-and-at-'em that soon after getting run over by a motorcycle,  _and_ a car,  _and_ getting kicked by a supersoldier! Fucking superbeings. Well, sucks to be you, catsuit dude, Kate's not wasting any sympathy on you  _now_.  

Kate shifts her weight in order to kick him in the face, and when that doesn't work she yanks her batons off of the side of her boot and backhands him hard enough that his grip loosens and she can accelerate away. 

She's even with Bucky now, and in a motion she can't follow he's launched himself onto the bike behind her. His arms are tight around her waist and there's no time for pithy remarks or even a plain hello, just time to weave between cars, putting as much distance between them and special forces and cops and weirdos in indestructible suits as possible. 

Something his them—well, hits mostly Bucky—and would send them skidding except that Bucky has the sense to put his metal hand down, managing to both stop their momentum and get them back upright, only now they're headed back the way they came, headfirst into oncoming traffic. 

A helicopter beats overhead, and the noose continues to tighten.  

Catsuit makes another go at them. Bucky's hand snaps out, catching they guy by the throat, and now Kate has to contend with a struggle on the back of the motorcycle as well as oncoming traffic. She swerves—too hard, everything too precarious—and Bucky unbalances, goes flying forward, dropping catsuit. 

Catsuit has clearly had enough of both her  _and_ the motorcycle, because his response to being back in her proximity is to fling her  _and_ the motorcycle backwards over his head. Kate has the good sense to release her grip on the bike which means that she has roadrash instead of being a smear on the tunnel wall. 

Catsuit guy barely spares her a glance before taking off towards Bucky and Steve and-- 

Something small and silver is blinking on the wall of the tunnel, faster, faster, until it explodes, creating a small avalanche of concrete. 

Kate can hear the blare of sirens. She's no good now, she won't reach her boys before the cops do, and she's useless incarcerated but she might be useful on the outside. 

She vaults to the street above, yanking her helmet off and trying to mask her new limp, fading into the crowds. 

"Kate," David's voice is even in her ear. "Do me a favor and pull that earbud out and give it a stomp, okay? No sense in giving them a neon sign about where we are." 

"Copy that. Rendezvous in two hours. You have more access to communication, and I think It's time to give our friends in Hell's Kitchen a call." 

"Aye, aye." 

"All right. Hawkeye, over and out." 

Kate makes a point to not think about anything at all as she walks away—from a fight, from her friends, from the people she loves. 

=*= 

Kate's heels click across the tile and she struggles to keep her steps even and hopes she's not bleeding through her skirt. 

"Sorry, woah, woah, woah," a short blond dude rushes over to them, Carter hot on his heels. "Who are you? You can't be here, how did you get in here?" 

"I am, like, totally interested in how the US government operates on foreign soil," Kate says, wandering off to check a monitor hanging on the wall, making a point to not look at Steve or Sam. Or Tony, or Cassie, who is in the same office as Tony, clearly uncomfortable. There are so many ways for this all to blow up. 

Like that fact that catsuit guy, a man she  _literally ran over with a motorcycle,_ is in fact a king. She is so, so screwed. 

"Good for you. Take a civics class," the man snaps. "Carter, get them out of here. Ma'am, if you and your friend don't leave, I'm going to have to arrest you." 

Kate eyes  _her_ blond dude. "Does he have the authority to do that?" 

"Well, he's CIA, so we probably shouldn't push it," he says, before turning back to CIA and Carter. "Foggy Nelson, I'm Miss Bishop's attorney, and also part of James Buchanan Barnes' legal team." 

"Legal— _legal_ team?" CIA can't believe it. "He's a terrorist." 

"With all due respect, Agent, Sergeant Barnes is a US citizen that was held against his will, tortured, and brainwashed,  _by a US government agency,_ for decades. Let's maybe be careful about throwing around the word terrorist." 

Kate points at Foggy. "See? He is super smart, and that's why I pay him." 

"Oh." CIA's face wrinkles like a short-winded bulldog. "Oh, Christ, you're Katharine Bishop, aren't you? Ross told me to keep an eye out for you." 

"Did he say why?" 

"No, just that you like to stir up shit and wreck careers." 

"But he didn't tell you how?" Kate ponders this, genuinely puzzled. "That's pretty cold, even for the general." Kate mentally high-fives her past Sokovian ball self with the thought of  _mutually assured destruction, BITCH!_   

"So when do I get to see my client?" 

"Your  _client_ is wanted for terrorism and the murder of a foreign dignitary. This is an international incident, Mr. Nelson, and you're out of your depth. Carter, get them out of here." 

Kate and Sharon engage in a heated, albeit whispered, argument that is swiftly about to escalate into a shouting match when Foggy interrupts all of them. 

"Sorry, who's that in the room with Sergeant Barnes?" 

=*= 

Kate didn't expect the way this explodes to be someone triggering Bucky's Hydra protocols. It's also worth mentioning that what the CIA considered Bucky-proof containment is laughably inadequate. 

"Follow me!" Sharon takes off at a run, Cassie and Kate hot on her heels, Tony not far behind.  

Kate velcroes her gloves around her wrists, slapping the palms together a few times to make sure the connectivity is good. 

She can handle this. She's  _trained_ for this. Bucky specifically made sure she was ready for this, and she will be very, very angry and very, very grateful for this when she actually has Bucky back. 

Bucky-not-Bucky throws Tony aside, throws Sharon into a table, has his hand around Cassie's neck, which gives Kate the opening she needs to smack her hand against his arm. 

The metal immediately goes limp, dropping to his side with a series of clicks and whirrs.  

He turns to look at her, and it's-- 

It's someone Kate hasn't seen in years. He's not Bucky, not her Bucky, the one who spins her until she's dizzy or who throws her over his shoulders like she's a sack of flour just to prove he can, not the one who watches her cook like he's witnessing a miracle or who leaves lists all over the place. 

This is the Winter Soldier. 

There is nothing behind his eyes, just a flat disinterest with a flicker of irritation. She remembers the words Bucky had practiced with her, and she tries to say them,  _silver twilight_ her tongue tripping over syllables  _cat engine_ and he grows impatient with her. His metal arm still isn't working but his other one is fine and he uses it to shove her backwards, sending her flying into Sharon, them both into a wall, a tangle of limbs and furniture.  The air is knocked from her lungs and her head hits something. Just before the world bursts into stars around her, she sees T'Challa leap on Bucky's back, and she has the inane thought,  _wait, is the_ _King_ _of_ _Wakanda_ _wearing_ _Converse_ _?_ before she loses track of things, for a minute. 

=*= 

"Up, get up!" Sam says, which doesn't make a lot of sense since he doesn’t wait for her to stand, preferring to haul her to her feet himself. Kate sways and his—admittedly  _very painful—_ grip on her elbow is the only thing that keeps her upright. She shakes her head and pitches off balance again.  

"Sam, you'll move faster without me. You have to go, okay? I can handle myself here, all right? Go find them, leave me a trail if you can." 

Sam peers down at her. "We're not Hansel and Gretel, what the hell are you--" 

"Oh my god, has David not taught you any spy tricks in the  _however many futzing years_ you've been dating? Just go while you still can!" She shoves him, unbalances, crashes into a pile of chairs. 

Fortunately, Sam has already taken off to the exit, so he's not there to make fun of her or delay his leaving. 

She just lays there, listening to Tony yell on his phone and the clatter of people, until Sharon looms over her. "Need a hand?" 

Under the circumstances, Kate feels her groan is a perfectly acceptable answer. 

=*= 

"Who are you, really?" CIA's words are clipped as he paces around her. Someone may have said his name but Kate can't say that she cared enough to commit it to memory, so CIA he is. 

Kate takes the ice pack Sharon offers her and presses it to her split lip before looking to Foggy. 

"My client doesn’t have to answer your questions. She sustained an injury here, you can plan on us slapping you with a hefty lawsuit--" 

"Can it," CIA snaps.  

"I've taken Krav Maga," Kate says, earning her a glare from her lawyer and an eye-roll from Sharon.  

"My client," Foggy Nelson, Greatest Attorney at Law, Ever, cuts in, "has been nothing but cooperative--" this is a stretch-- "and has gotten nothing but trouble for her efforts," this is true, "her quick thinking may have even saved one of your agents." That last one might also be reaching. Foggy stands and Kate follows suit. "My client is walking out the door with me, or the next time I see you it'll be to slap a very noisy, very public suit against the CIA." 

"Don't push it, Mr. Nelson. You and your client are free to go," CIA nods towards the door.  "But you can expect a visit from the CIA sooner rather than later." 

=*= 

Kate ditches Foggy five blocks out from the CIA offices. She'd feel worse if she hadn't managed to tuck a flight voucher in his jacket and if she wasn't about to do things that are, at this point, super-duper hella illegal. 

The river. Steve and Bucky seem to wind up in rivers or large bodies of water a lot, so that seems like a good place to start looking. The sheer number of abandoned buildings on the riverfront is daunting. 

She almost misses her trail, passes by the letters three times before she gets what they mean. 

University of Iowa. 

The Hawkeyes. 

=*= 

Sam shines a light in her eyes, because he's always shining a light in her eyes, and probes the lump on the back of her head, because he's always doing that, too.  

"How are you feeling?" 

"Pissed off."  

"Not what I meant." 

"Pissed off and sore." 

"Awesome. Sore where?" Sam asks while testing her grip strength.  

"Everywhere." Kate quails under his glare. "My head. My neck. My leg from the road rash." 

"Anywhere else?" 

"My head." 

"You said that already." 

"She means her brain," David offers, sitting next to Kate on the grimy concrete. "Go check on Barnes. Steve thinks he might wake up soon." 

Sam raises his eyebrow in what might be a I–suspect-bullshit expression, but it's hard to tell. 

"So," David says. "This day is fucked all to hell. And it started off so well, with you infiltrating the CIA." 

"That  _was_ pretty good," she admits. He helps her to her feet, and the pair of them resettle in the room where Bucky's arm is being held by a giant fuck-off clamp. 

He doesn't look like the Winter Soldier.  

He's unconscious, that helps, but Kate just can't shake the feeling that, well, it's Bucky in there.  

Steve offers Kate his shield to use as a makeshift ice pack for her head. The four of them are in a loose circle, each occasionally sneaking glances over at Bucky and ignoring the sound of helicopters overhead. 

"We need to figure out what we're going to do when Bucky wakes up. I don't think Tony  _can_ help us, even if he wanted to, and I don't know how we'll get word to anybody in the States without giving up our location." 

"This would have been easier before the Accords," Sam says. He bites his words back, having some sort of internal debate. "I know a guy."  

Everyone knows a guy, Kate wants to say. I know a guy. I know a girl who can talk to squirrels—what's her name? And the guy—the guy with the card tricks—or one of the two girls with a dinosaur, one of them's Ge-- 

A pain cracks through Kate's head like someone took a baseball bat to her. It occurs to Kate that this has happened more than once, only she normally feels unconcerned about it, only maybe Bucky jarred something loose-- 

"Hey." David nudges her shoulder with his. "Don't worry about it, okay? We can figure it out when we're not fugitives." She nods at him, relieved. She's not crazy, and David will help her figure out what's wrong. 

"We need people," she says. "But we'll also need money. I don't know if SHIELD knew where all of our stashes were, but we might still have some--" 

"Stashes?" Steve raises his eyebrows. 

"It was part of our training. You never know when you might be stuck in a foreign country so if you can, it's always smart to have hideouts and cash and fake IDs someplace. Part of the training was finding someplace to put them yourself." 

"I had one in Warsaw," David says. "There was a team one in Belgrade, right?" 

"No. I mean, yes, you're right, but that's not where we're going." She could be wrong, but it's the kind of thing he would do. Just the kind of tricky thing he'd do, on the off chance one of them went back for it. "We're going to the cache in Stuttgart." 

=*= 

Time slows to a crawl and David dozes, drooling on Kate's shoulder until Sam breaks the pattern.  

"Steve. He's waking up." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW WELL LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY CIVIL WAR FEELINGS  
> for starters, I hope this is still making sense. I'm also not sure how good I am with foreshadowing, I usually tend to underplay or vastly overplay stuff, so leik. ??? I DON'T WANT TO BEAT YOU GUYS OVER THE HEAD WITH STUFF i'm just not good...at balance...
> 
> Cassie being a stand-in for Natasha wasn't in the original plan, but I also didn't really like the idea of Natasha and Clint getting into this conflict, being on opposite sides of it, while being in a long-term committed relationship. Not that fundamental differences can't occur in long-term relationships! I just feel that between Nick, Laura, Nat, and Clint, they'd have enough good sense to keep those debates philosophical and not get embroiled in the actual physical fighting. "You can each write a DAMN LETTER to your CONGRESSMAN," Laura tells them. "But by GOD, you WILL both be here for Lila's dance recital," while Nick looms behind her.  
> Their presence would be really interesting to dissect in the context of this fic but there is A LOT OF OTHER STUFF going on and tbqh their story does not take priority.
> 
> Also, I felt the need to rewatch Civil War to get a better feel for what's going on in general, and hoo dang did I forget how much I want to strangle Ross? I mean, read the above if you'd like to know why I hate him. I have to imagine that in Actual MCU he really swept his time with Banner under the rug because why??? Is anyone taking this man seriously??? To me it's the equivalent of letting Justin Hammer be secretary of state. It's a BAD IDEA.
> 
> anyway. this chapter was supposed to be up like...two days ago, which clearly didn't happen, in large part because I keep having to say to myself "binch, you don't have to rehash every gd scene in the movie if people want that they can just go watch the movie" which is also to say that I'm sorry if the use of actual scenes and dialogue gets irritating. I really am trying.
> 
> UP NEXT: A battle royale! more conspiracies! archenemies! baby spiders! perhaps an angry discussion of operation paperclip! and more!


	15. Hunger of the Pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *john mulaney STREET SMARTS voice* CIVIL WAR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, let me air some grievances  
> (also, I finally saw Infinity War and just...uhhhh...no)  
> (also I made the terrible mistake of watching Spider-man: Homecoming for the first time right before I went to see Infinity War. on the plus side I have lots of THOUGHTS and FEELINGS about Peter Parker)

Bucky stirs, blinking heavily.  

"Do you know who I am?" 

"You're Steve," Bucky says. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to—used to stuff newspapers in your shoes." Bucky smiles, lost in the memory, and Steve smiles back. 

"Can't read that in a museum." 

"What, and we're just supposed to be cool now?" Sam looks pleadingly at Kate, as if begging her to have sense.  

She doesn't have any idea why Sam thinks she'd start having sense now, of all times.  

"Being cool doesn't mean that we're not wary," she points out.  

"You two are idiots. I just want to point that out," Sam informs them. 

Steve gives David a nod, and David fiddles with some levers and nobs and releases Bucky's arm.  

"There was a point where you thought we weren't idiots?  _Sam_ ," Kate rests her hand on his elbow for a second. "That's so sweet." 

"Don't," Sam shakes off her touch. "I don't want to like you right now." 

"Understandable." 

David drags Sam to another part of the warehouse they're holed up in, to give them some space.  

Bucky isn't avoiding Kate, but he's not standing shoulder to shoulder with her, like he is with Steve. 

 _It's the words, it's the words, he knows you tried to use them to control him--_  

"I'm sorry," Bucky interrupts her swiftly-devolving inner monologue. "Both of you—I hurt both of you. Maybe we'd all be better off if--" 

"Shut the fuck up," Kate snaps, the venom in her voice surprising even her. "No. We're not going to have this conversation. It is not your fault that Hydra fucked you up." 

"And it's not your fault that someone decided to take advantage of that." Steve reaches out to Bucky, fisting a hand in his shirt and pulling him in for a hug. Steve beckons Kate with his free hand, and she slides in behind Bucky, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her forehead to his spine.  

"I want them out of my head," Bucky says, voice low. Not scary-low, more like he's hurting and trying not to show it. "I hate this, I hate that I'm dangerous to others and I can't control it—I'm dangerous. I shouldn't be around anyone, I shouldn't be around either of you--" 

"And I thought I was the dumb one," Steve mutters.  

"Bucky," Kate says. Her voice is muffled by his back, so she straightens a little. "I get what you're saying, but turning yourself in, or letting the CIA or the UN be in charge of you is a terrible plan. They won't care about helping you--" 

"Maybe I don't deserve to be helped." 

 _That_ hits like a two-ton of bricks, and Kate instinctively tightens her grip on Bucky, presses her face back against him, as if he's attempting to walk into government custody this instant.  

"That," Steve says after a long, silent moment, "is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard." 

"Steve--" 

"No, Buck, I need you to listen to me right now. You didn't ask for this to be done to you. You didn't volunteer, not like I did. You didn't sign a consent form, you didn't agree to become a lab rat. Hydra  _did this_ to you, and they keep doing this to you. It's not your fault, Buck, and it never was. Not in Italy, not in DC, not now, not any time in between." 

"I concur," Kate says. 

"I hurt both of you!" Frustration creeps into Bucky's voice. 

"Yes, okay,  _Jesus_ , fine," Kate mutters, mostly to herself, tugging Bucky out of Steve's grip, pulling him to face her. "Hand," she demands, holding hers out and waiting for Bucky to put his hand in hers. He does, after a brief hesitation.  

"Okay, so, I have a lump....here," she says, taking his fingers and pressing them lightly against the bump. "And I have a crick in my neck, which you can't feel, and a huge bruise on my ass which you don't  _get_ to feel, because it's a bruise. Steve?" 

Steve shrugs. "My shoulders are a little sore from pulling the helicopter back to the roof, but I'm fine." 

"See? We're—wait, you did what with a helicopter?" 

"He was trying to fly away, so I pulled it back onto the roof." 

"Wait, the helicopter was in flight?" Kate looks heavenward, which is a joke. God can't help her now. "Sometimes I really just forget how strong you are." 

As if to prove the point—one that does not actually require proving—Steve lifts her up over his head. With one hand. 

Kate scoffs. "That's not even impressive, Steve." 

Steve holds his free hand out to Bucky.  

"No way," Bucky steps back, hands up. "I'm not a circus monkey." 

Steve puts Kate down. "See? We're fine." 

"What if you weren't? What if one day you  _aren't_? I couldn't live with myself--" 

"And if you think I could live with  _myself_ if I let you willingly turn yourself in to Ross, you're wrong." 

Bucky still doesn't look convinced. Kate takes his face in her hands. "Bucky. Yes, you did hurt us. But—at least on my end of things—part of the reason you weren't successful is because  _this_ you made sure I knew what to do if the Winter Soldier was ever triggered. You also didn't try to kill me. I understand that this is an incredibly low bar, but you did clear it." 

Bucky sighs, the tension sliding off of his shoulders. "You need better standards." 

"I like what my standards got me." 

He swallows heavily. "And you'd tell me—you'd tell me if I ever hurt either one of you, if I ever did something that was—that was--" he doesn't finish, maybe he can't. 

"Yes," she says. "We would." 

=*= 

"His name's Zemo," David says. The picture on his tablet is grainy, made worse by the fact that It's a crappy tablet. Kate can see how much David  _hates_ this crappy, stolen tablet, and also how much he's holding it in. "Helmut Zemo. Special forces, from Sokovia. That's all I can get with this--" he clearly discards the more scathing things he wants to say-- "with these limited resources." 

"Special forces," Steve turns the words over. "Must be, with how he managed to find information Hydra buried. What was that notebook, anyway?" 

"The backup," Bucky says. He looks like he's trying to vanish behind his hair. "There were two notebooks that I know of. One with my handlers and one kept elsewhere, in case something happened to the first one. It has...codewords, past mission details. Maybe medical history, I'm not really sure, and most of what I know comes from Cassie." 

"Cassie?" Kate can't keep the surprise out of her voice. 

"Yeah, uh—when they were—when they were programming her, they kept me around in case she tried to escape or kill anyone. She remembers some stuff from then." 

"Well that's...horrific," David says. "Kate, did you know about that?" 

Kate shakes her head. She and Cassie used to be so close, and now-- 

"How did he know about it? I imagine that's not the sort of information Hydra wants spread around, that there's an assassin instruction manual floating around out there," Sam cuts into Kate's thoughts. "Any idea what happened to the first one?" 

"I destroyed the first one," Bucky's voice is flat. "I didn't know what it was at the time, and if I had, maybe I would have kept it, maybe it would be able to help me figure out how to undo what they did." 

"I didn't know about it," David muses. "I haven't seen anything about it, and I've been digging in Hydra's dirt for years." 

"It was eyes-only information," Bucky continues. "I think even knowing about it was for higher-ups only, and a lot of those were killed during the Triskelion attack." 

"Strucker might have known?" David hazards. "But he's super dead, too." 

"So where does that leave us? Zemo is Hydra?" Steve asks. 

"It might not be that simple. He's from Sokovia, he lose anybody during Ultron's attack?" 

David taps aggressively, trying to come up with an answer. "Oh. Oh damn. Yeah, he lost his family, his wife and his son and his parents." 

"Okay. So, motive. That still doesn't explain how he found out the notebook even existed. If Hydra was supposed to be dead and the Winter Soldier a ghost story, then what does that make the notebook?" 

"A cryptid?" David guesses. "To do that kind of digging, starting  _way_ after I did, he'd either need help, an incredibly smart and huge computer system, or a head start. Maybe all of them." 

"Which is fascinating in a really unpleasant sort of way, but doesn't get us any closer to figuring out why Zemo wanted Bucky, which means we're no closer to figuring out his next move," Kate concludes. 

"That's not entirely true," Bucky says. "He wanted specific information. A specific date." 

"December 16, 1991," Steve parrots. 

"Oh," Kate says. "Well, shit." 

Kate isn't sure if it's just the fact that this is the first time everyone's had a chance to let that date sink in, or if it's her reaction, but the realization is like a ripple effect, moving from David to Bucky to Steve to Sam. 

"So this is about supersoldier serum, or Howard Stark, or both," Kate says.  

"It's the serum." Bucky stares at the floor. "It was—I've been remembering things since I left, about what i was asked to do, and the serum—Hydra used it, used up all of it. There was a facility in Siberia and they had—they had volunteers. Their deadliest hit squad, they'd racked up hundreds of kills before the serum. After it..." He drifts off, lost in a memory.  

"If what Zemo wanted was the location of this Hydra hit squad, then I think it's a fair assumption that we don't want him anywhere near them." 

"Trust me, we don't want anyone near them," Bucky says. "Hydra stopped using them for a reason. They can't be controlled, not like I could. There's a reason they preferred to brainwash assets, why they did it for everything after that group. They put them back on ice. Weren't willing to admit failure and hoping for a future development that would allow them to be easier to control. We can't let them be activated." 

"Well, if we can't wake them up, what are we supposed to do?" David raises an eyebrow. "We can't let Ross have them, we can't let them sit there, waiting for Zemo. Who knows who he works for?" 

"We kill them." 

Everyone falls silent and all eyes land on Bucky. 

"We have to." 

"We can't just—we can't just  _kill_  people," Kate says, trying not to stare at Bucky. "That's not—we can't do that." 

"None of you understand." Bucky clenches his fist, metal joints whirring. "They aren't like Cassie, or Noh, or Natasha. They weren't mislead, or lied to, or manipulated. They weren't good people to begin with. They were cruel, they were deadly, and they were hard, and that was before the serum." 

"Worse than you, then," says David, who also caught the fact that Bucky didn't include himself in the list of good people. 

"I survived. I continued to be used for missions. So really I think it depends on what your definition of  _worse_ is." Bucky smiles his thin, sharp smile, the one he wears when he doesn't think he deserves any sort of kindness.  

"Okay. Tabling... _all_ of the bullshit that's flying around here, we need to get to Siberia before Zemo does. Assuming he knows that's where he's supposed to go." 

"Hydra has—had—several bases in Siberia. Russia is enormous. It might take him some time to find the right one." 

"But not us?" David ask, hope tingeing his voice.  

"With your help? No," Bucky shakes his head. "Not us." 

"So we need to get to Siberia, and we need to get there fast. Probably not as ourselves, and we probably want backup." Kate looks from person to person, waiting for any objections. "Okay, so. Stuttgart. It'll be better if we split up. So, Sam and Bucky, David and Steve--" 

"That leaves you alone," David interrupts. "Why are you alone, that seems like a bad idea." 

"Because I'm not a priority person, here," Kate points out. "They're going to expect Steve and Bucky to travel together, or Steve and Sam, or Bucky alone, and since I showed up at the CIA, they're going to have an eye out for me with any of you three. This is the best way to do this." 

"You need someone to watch your back," David argues before anyone else can speak. "Ross is gonna be gunning for you now, and you know it." 

"He's not going to be gunning for me any more than anyone else and the fact that you think that  _Ross_ can catch me is kind of insulting." 

"How are we even going to get there?" David asks, voice doubtful. "I'm not liquid." 

Kate looks at each of them. "None of you has cash on you?" 

Bucky looks positively murderous as he says, "well, if I had my backpack I would, I  _always_ carry cash." 

"I got like ten pounds. Didn't have time to exchange." Sam pulls out his wallet before looking between Steve and David, who are looking chagrined and sheepish, respectively. "Between the two of you, you got nothing? You're kept men, I just want you to know that."  

"Kate always gives me cash," David mutters. 

"Uh, it's called your paycheck, David, because you don't like cashing your checks." 

"No, you know, when we go on international trips, you always give me petty cash." 

"Oh my god. I don't have any extra cash on me, it's all in my hotel room which, at this point, I'm calling burned. I don't--" She stops herself. Looks at herself. 

She's still dressed to kill, in a manner of speaking. 

She takes out her earrings—diamond studs—and hands those to Sam. "Here, have some petty cash." 

Her tennis bracelet goes to Bucky, one of her rings to Steve. Her necklace goes to David, she'll keep the last ring for herself and she can sell her shoes, too-- 

"No." David tries to hand the necklace back to her. "This was your mom's, no, I'm not doing that." 

"Well, you have to." 

"No, I'm--" 

" _David_. We need it. We're broke and we're fugitives, and I won't be able to give it up, so I'm trusting you to sell it. Please don't make me ask again."  

He looks at her, then back at the necklace, an Art Deco carved moonstone pendant that was her great-grandmother's, then her grandmother's, then her mother's-- 

Somebody might be rolling in their grave over this, but she'll have to deal with that later.  

"Find a pawn shop," she instructs them. "Feel free to haggle, don't let them try to tell you those are fake, because they're not." 

"Nobody be in a hurry to get anywhere," Bucky warns. "Take the scenic route. Double back just in case you're being followed." 

"Burner phones," David adds to the to-do list. "Sam, call your guy. I'll get word to Billy and Teddy, have them grab Wanda if she wants, meet up in Stuttgart." David's eyes drift closed. "I really wish we knew what Cassie told Ross." 

"She wouldn't have to tell him anything. He knows us. He just couldn't do anything about it—but with her, now he can." Kate doesn't like to think about this, doesn't like to feel so betrayed by Cassie when it's her fault Cassie is this way to begin with. 

"What about Nate? Think Ross knows about him?" 

"I have no idea. If he does, then we  _have_ to offer Nate help. If he doesn't then us offering him help will only draw Ross to him." 

"He might side with Stark, just because he's Stark." David fiddles with something, not making eye contact. "Tech people are going to be more likely to side with Stark. Tech people have more of a choice. I didn't decide I wanted this," David drums his fingers against his temple. "Some people are just born with it." 

 _But if you're a freak, better hide_.  

"Does someone want to explain Stuttgart to me?" Steve asks. "Is it some kind of inside joke?" 

"Kind of? As far as places to hide stuff go, Stuttgart isn't bad particularly if you're a diverse group of American teenagers. It's a pretty immigrant-heavy city, so it's hard to stand out. The Loki you met would have gone there to be a spiteful bitch, and the Loki we knew would have gone there because he liked the food. I think it's possible that he went back after he wasn't Creepo Loki and bulked it up. Just in case." 

"It's also likely that he didn't and Creepo Loki went there and did nothing to it, or that he went there and decimated it." 

"Look, we can make a straight run for Russia but I'd rather roll the dice and see." 

David stares at her. "Seriously? Now is the time when you're banking on luck?" 

"I'm with Kate," Steve says, because he's predictable, the loveable idiot. "And if we go to Stuttgart, it gives our allies a chance to get to us." 

"For the record," David jabs his finger at Kate. "I think that stash is either gone or messed up by Loki." 

"Your objection is noted. Now, I propose we lie low until morning and then head out." 

On that, at least, everyone agrees. 

=*= 

Kate leans against a large piece of metal that might be a railing, mimicking Steve's posture. "How are you doing?" 

"I'm fine." 

"We both know that's a lie." She turns so that she's facing him, but he still doesn’t look at her. "You've been going almost nonstop since the funeral. You haven't even had time to grieve." 

"Well," That Muscle in Steve's jaw starts to tic. "There's been a lot going on." 

"I'm aware. But I also know how important Peggy was to you. You love her, and you haven't had time to process it at all." 

Steve glances over at Bucky, who is sleeping, or, at least, pretending to sleep. "I'll process when this is over." 

Kate raises an eyebrow. 

"I promise!" Steve holds his hands up in surrender. "I'll just shove all of my stress and issues and grief into a pile and sort through it when we're done. Just like cleaning house." 

"And that's why we live in my apartment, not yours," Kate points out.  

"You know that's not how I clean my apartment." 

"I know. Your apartment is disgustingly clean. I don't understand why something is okay for your mental health but not your home. That's weird to me." 

Steve gives her a Look before pulling her into a hug. "You're obnoxious, you know?" 

"Yup. Part of my charm." 

They bed down, eventually, one of them on either side of Bucky. Close, but not too close, not boxing him in.  

Kate tries to get comfortable on the cold concrete and decides that when this is over, she's going to call Peter up and see if he knows any nice places for a supersoldier and a former assassin. She's over this planet. 

>>>\----> 

Kate is a day and a half into her Longest Journey to Stuttgart, wishing she hadn't opted to be the lone wolf because it's super boring to have to plot everything out and when to backtrack and be constantly looking over your shoulder all by yourself--it's exhausting. 

It's exhausting, and boring, and suddenly a lot less boring when she sees more  _Breaking News blah blah Accords blah blah_ and comes to a full stop in front of a display TV. 

Noises might come out of her mouth, she's not sure. She might stumble into someone; she's not sure about that either. 

On the news, Eli Bradley is facing off against Thaddeus Ross like they're at their first debate in their presidential runs.  

Oh  _god_. Things must be worse than she realized.  

"I think," Eli grips the podium and leans forward so he can stare at Ross, "that the government—particularly the US government—should think very long and very hard about its history of human experimentation on minors and unconsenting adults and internment camps before they start lobbing around phrases like  _indefinite detention._ I'd  _imagine_ ," he continues. "That certain individuals that would be affected by the Accords just want to continue living peaceful, quiet lives, and that the only reason they keep quiet about what was done to them, or what their government then asked them to do, is because they'd like to keep that quiet life.  I  _imagine_ ," Eli stresses the word again, "that this information could be very damaging, should it exist." 

He steps back and reporters start shouting questions at him, but he ignores them. 

The channel cuts back to the talking heads and Kate stands stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, stunned. 

This was  _not_ the contingency plan. 

>>>\----> 

It's a great deal of skill and a hefty amount of luck that has Kate spotting a familiar figure in the market.  

" _Mon chou_ ," she links her arm through his, dragging him away from his plums. She smiles at him, beaming, chattering in a steady stream. Anything is better than American and pretending to be French is the best option.  

Police cars scream past them, sirens blaring. Bucky tenses, ready to run, but the cars keep going. 

"What are those angry, yappy dogs?" He asks conversationally. "The tiny ones." 

"I'm not a chihuahua." 

"Mmm, yeah, you are. Like a chihuahua you think you can fight people ten times your size and also like a chihuahua I could lift you out of a fight with one hand." 

"You wouldn't." 

"If someone comes to take me in, yeah, I will. I don't want you caught up in that." He looks over her head, taking in their surroundings. "Do you know where we're going?" 

"Nope." 

"Oh. Good. Let me lead for once. You're the last one here." She consents, letting him lead her to a seedy-looking motel in a less than welcoming part of town.

He tugs her to a stop before opening the door, pulling her in for a hug. "You're  _late_ ," he mutters. "We were starting to get worried."

Kate thinks of and discards several witty jokes she could make. He's right, this is a big deal, and if one of them was as late as she was, she'd be climbing the walls.

"I know," she says, instead. "I was never sure if I was doing enough to make sure I was avoiding everyone looking for us, so I kept double- and triple-checking, quadrupling back."

"Regretted going alone?"

Kate muffles her resigned laugh against his chest. "You know I did. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." He pulls back, holds her at arms length, looking her up and down, nodding. "Yeah, I'm doing okay now."

With that, he unlocks the door.

Kate sees David a half second before she sees Steve, and the pair of them are in each other's faces in an instant. 

"Did you see--" 

"That wasn't the plan--" 

"--like what was, that,  _taunting_ Ross--" 

"He's always been so private--" 

"--fucking  _Eli_ \--" 

"Did  _you_ tell him--" 

"--you didn't ask him to--" 

Kate cuts off her thoughts by flinging up her hands and squawking. "Does Eli want Ross to kill him?"  

"Maybe, man, but what a way to go." 

"Have you guys gotten the stuff?" 

"Nope." David shakes his head. "We were waiting for you. Don't know which locker it is." 

"Oh. That could have been really bad," Kate realizes. "If I hadn't made it." 

"There's another problem," Bucky interjects. "We've been keeping an eye on the place where you said you hid the stuff, and there's someone there every day." They all look at Bucky expectantly and he huffs at them. "Someone there. Every day. Probably watching something to make sure nobody takes it." 

=*= 

"Hi," Kate says to the person Bucky's seen here every day. 

"I'm Leah," the woman says, not looking up from her book or her beverage. Kate is pretty certain she has bones in her hair. "I'm from Hel." 

"Oh, cool, we've been." 

This makes Leah...of Hel...look up. "What?" 

"Well, it was a while ago," David admits. "And it might not have been your Hel?" 

"Oh my god,  _fine_ , don't grill me!" The woman snaps, slamming her book shut. "Technically I'm only  _sort of_ Leah, I'm a manifestation of Loki's guilt made real. I was ripped out of his head when he fell off of the Rainbow Bridge. Right before the whole Battle of New York thing." 

Kate and David exchange glances. "Thanks...for the info?" Kate tries. 

"So you're like...his Jiminy Cricket?" David hazards a guess. 

"I don't know what that means, but no." The woman takes a loud slurp of her drink. "You guys like milkshakes or do you need to grab the stuff and bounce?" 

They stare. 

"What? You're Hawkeye, right, he's Prodigy, they're....don't care." 

They're still staring. 

Leah sighs. "Look, I was asked to do a favor, and since I don't know much about myself, I figured this would be a good time to find myself  _and_ make Loki owe me a favor. Two birds, one stone. That's the expression, right?" 

"How long have you been here?" David asks. 

"Two years, maybe? Not too long." 

"Asgardians," David mutters to Sam and Bucky, who look more than a little stunned. "Time works differently for them." 

"Right. So. Your stuff isn't here, Loki moved it. You want it, or did you want to eat first?" 

=*= 

Leah takes them to a train station and drags them to where all of the lockers are.  

"Here you go," Leah says, taking another drink of her milkshake. Kate is pretty sure that's not the kind of glass you're supposed to take from the restaurant. "All safe and sound." 

"Do you know what the combination is?" 

Leah shrugs, and Kate stifles a growl.  

"Okay. Loki set this up." She glances at David. "Loki picked the combination." A six-digit combination. Loki picked it.  

A Loki who cares about them again. Not creepy King Loki from the end of the world. 

Six digits. 

Kate takes a deep breath, punches in what she hopes is the code, and waits with bated breath as the little light on the pad goes from red to green. 

"How did you do that?" Steve demands. 

"What was it?" David asks. 

Kate smiles at him before she starts pulling out the plain black bags crammed into the locker. "It was your birthday." 

David's jaw drops. Before he has a chance to gather himself, Leah shoulders her way back between them, slapping the metal of another locker. "This one, too." 

"Another one?" Kate doesn’t have another trick like that up her sleeve, and the odds of Loki picking the same combination twice are slim. 

"That one was my birthday? For real?" David asks, one more time. Kate nods. 

"I got this, then," David proclaims, rubbing his hands together and blowing on her fingertips before punching in a code.  

The light stays red. 

"Hang on," he says, trying again. "I put in the wrong day." 

This time, the light goes green. 

Kate raises an eyebrow, not bothering to voice the question, and David answers, smiling as he says: "Your birthday." 

"You know what kind of people you use birthdays as passwords for, right?" Sam asks them. "You get that, right?" 

" _Yes_ , Sam, we coparented a demigod, can we focus, please?" David glides right past this revelation.  

"Oh," Leah pulls a face. " _Gross_." 

"Hey," Kate calls to the woman as she turns to leave. "You doing anything this week?" 

"I don't want to join your little crusade, no. I want to find a girlfriend." 

"Admirable goal. Still, if you get bored..." Kate trails off. "Or, you know. Want to save the world." 

"If the world ever needs saving, I'll look you up." There is more than enough sarcasm in Leah's voice. If Loki had ever gotten to be a truly angsty teenager instead of a tragic one, Kate imagines he would have sounded a lot like this. "Later, losers." 

Leah vanishes, leaving a slightly charred outline on the tile floor where she once stood. 

"Weird," David observes. "Seen weirder, but still. Weird." 

=*= 

The stash is better than good. Three computers and a bag full of phones, all of their old IDs, a few thousand Euro in cash and a few pieces of jewelry that will be easy enough to pawn. A set of lockpicking tools, several pairs of sunglasses, and-- 

"You beautiful bastard," Kate murmurs.  

Loki left a take-down bow and almost a hundred arrows for her, some carefully labeled  _putty_ or  _shock_  or  _rope._  

"So," David says. "Guess we like Loki again, huh?" 

Kate, whose preferred bow has probably been confiscated by the CIA or the UN by now, runs her fingers over the arrows with reverence. "Absolutely." Her eyes dart over to the pile of gear that looks about to topple the rickety hotel table. "How'd you guys get your gear back?" 

There is a long, very awkward silence. 

"Uh," Bucky begins. 

"Sharon," Steve continues. 

"Oh! She's good people. Hope she doesn’t get in trouble for that." 

Bucky clears his throat. Steve is turning ever more alarming shades of red. Kate feels distinctly like she's missed something. Next to her, David is fuming. 

"What did...what did I miss?" 

She waits for the other shoe to drop. 

"She kissed Wilson!" Bucky bursts out, practically beaming in an obnoxious sort of schadenfreude delight. "Laid one right on him!" 

"She said she had something for me!" Sam mounts a defense he's clearly had to mount before. "She said it was for me but that I should give it to David, too!" 

"What the  _shiiit_ _."_ Kate is not fully aware of deciding to speak, yet here she is. "Oh. My  _god_ , oh my god, damn girl, oh my God, what the hell." She turns to David. "What the  _hell_?" 

"Don't look at me! You're the one with two boyfriends! You know what's going on in her head better than I do!" 

There is a lot of dour, serious crap going on right now, but this is such quality A-Grade Good Shit that Kate squeals a little. "I mean, clearly she wants to bone you! Or be boned by you, it really depends--" 

"That was not the information I was looking for!" David slaps his hands over his ears. Poor guy. He can escape from her voice but he can't escape from her thoughts. 

"Well, you two have always had this back-and-forth thing. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a friendly peck." 

"Okay, sure," Bucky nods, amiably. "Show us a friendly peck." 

"What, like, 'hey I just stole your stuff back from the government, hope it doesn't cost me my job' friendly?" 

David shrugs. "We've actually done that before." 

"Yeah," Kate also shrugs, looking at David, who leans over and...gives her a peck. It's not weird, not like they've never done this bef-- 

"Nope, it definitely wasn't that," Bucky declares. Sam glares at him. 

Kate looks from Sam to David, David to Sam, feeling like she's at an absurd tennis match. "Okay. Well, no offence to Sharon or whatever the hell is happening here, maybe we could discuss this at a time when we are less..." 

"Fugitives?" David supplies. 

"Yes." Kate snaps her fingers. "Fugitives. Excellent. Let's table this for when we aren't fugitives." 

Bucky is disappointed by this. Sam looks relieved, and David still seems perplexed, but he soldiers on. "So we've got maybe a day before everyone gets here. I managed to get in contact with Billy, which was pretty much all we needed. he and Tommy were going to swing by and nab Wanda." 

"Teddy, Tommy, Wanda, Billy, Pietro," Kate lists off. 

"And my guy," Sam adds. 

"And Sam's guy. No Nate?" 

"Decided not to risk it. If we're desperate, I can get a message to Jonas who can get a message to Nate, but given how gung-ho Vision was about registration, I'm not sure I want to invite another AI to the fight." 

"Probably smart." 

"So," Sam draws the word out, finally relaxing enough to plop into a seat. "What's the next step?" 

"We steal an airplane."  

Everyone turns to Kate, like she's said something weird or out of character. "I mean, fine, we might have enough money to  _purchase_ one, but stealing will be faster." 

"Borrowing," David corrects. "We're taking it with the intent to give it back. And, technically, a quinjet. That airfield is one SHIELD used to use. We've been doing some recon, and there's still an old quinjet hanging out in the hangar." 

"And we don't think that's suspicious?" Kate asks. 

"Oh, no, it's suspicious as hell, but we need it. And if we know there might be a trap, it'll be easier to avoid." 

=*= 

"We're not all going to make it out," Kate says.  

David and Sam have retreated to a different room, and even though there's more space, everything seems to press in more now that they're gone. 

Bucky looks up at her.  

"It's just the truth, it's just the numbers," she continues. "If they have any idea we're here, we're not all going to make it out." 

"And  _you_ know," Steve pulls her into a one-armed hug, his lips against her forehead, "we'll come back for whoever doesn't." 

"Promise?" 

"You know it." 

She does know it, but it's nice to have a verbal confirmation. It helps ease the dread weighing down on her. Things have been working out so far. Maybe they will continue working out for them. 

They don't stray far from one another, keeping within arm's reach. The tension coils tighter and tighter until Kate can't breathe anymore. She stands abruptly and yanks her shirt over her head. "All we have is right now."

Bucky stares at her, swallowing hard, licking his lips. "You can't steal my lines."

She's greedy tonight, wedges herself in the middle, Steve in front of her and Bucky behind. She doesn't rush—takes her time, savors it. The way she doesn't have to do anything. The way the metal of Bucky's arm warms against her skin, the look of awe on Steve's face as Bucky rocks her against Steve. She has a hand in his hair and one thrown behind her, trying to pull Bucky closer. She can't even tell if she's breathing any more, or if the expansion and contraction of her chest is simply because she's squeezed so tightly between the two of them.  

For the first time in weeks, she doesn’t think of anything.  

=*= 

"Hey, boss," Billy pulls her into a hug. "How ya holding up?" 

"I'm okay. You?" 

"I'm fine. Hunky-dory." He hands her a garment bag before she can make fun of his word choice. "You sure about going old-school?" 

Kate refrains from commenting on the fact that he's given her a  _garment bag_ with her grimy old uniform in it. "I just think it's more than likely that even with the pared-down armor Tony made, he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from putting lojack in it." 

"Probably a good call." Billy looks at her. "You sure you're okay?" 

"As okay as I can be." 

"Enough jabber!" Tommy calls from the other side of the van, smacking on the side of it. "Hey, dude, up-and-at-em. You need coffee?" 

"Sam?" Kate calls, poking her head around. "Where's your—guy— _fuck."_  

The only person she hasn't accounted for is  _Scott Lang_ , who is currently squeezing Steve's shoulders like he can't quite believe he's real. "Wow, you're Captain America!" Scott turns to Sam, pointing at Steve. "It's Captain America!" 

"Yeah, hey Tic-Tac. Glad you could make it." 

"No problem!" Scott is still looking at Steve.  

"We're operating outside of the law on this one, Lang. You work with us, you're a wanted man." 

"Yeah, well, what else is new?" 

"No," Kate rounds the van. "Absolutely not! Nobody objected to this? Nobody thought this was a bad idea?" 

"Hey," Scott frowns, his whole face wrinkling. "That's rude, Hawk-dude." 

"Scott, no, I'm not putting you in the middle of this--" 

"You didn't do anything. Falcon asked me and I agreed. You didn't do  _anything_ ," Scott says, only the way he says it is more like  _you NEVER_ _do anything_ which is irritating as shit and Kate's about to get all up in his face when Steve steps between the two of them, a hand on her shoulder and one on Scott's chest to break up the fight. 

Scott looks down at Steve's hand, very clearly thinking  _oh my God! Captain America is touching me!_  

"Let's take it easy, now--" 

A voice interrupts him, loud and echoing in the parking garage, a German woman-- 

"They're clearing the airfield," David translates for those who don't speak German. "They know we're here." 

Steve surveys the group, nodding at them. "Okay. Let's suit up." 

=*= 

They're clustered together inside the abandoned hangar, in uneven groups. 

Across the tarmac lies their salvation—the quinjet, equipped with stealth technology to help them avoid Ross' goon squad.  

Between them and the quinjet lies the goon squad.  

Kate knows goon squad isn't fair, they are friends, people they all love and care for but-- 

Well, right now, they're a goon squad. 

"This is gonna get real ugly real fast," Tommy observes. "Stark isn't just going to let you walk right over." 

"Come on, man," Billy slaps his brother on the shoulder. "Life isn't about finding entrances, it's about  _making_ them." 

"On that note." Kate offers her arm to Steve. "Care to join me for a walk, Captain?" 

"It'd be my pleasure." 

Steve takes her arm and they leave the safety of the terminal. There's no point in running, not right now. This is opening moves, seeing what's what.  

For a moment, Kate wonders if they've beaten Ross' gang here, which is when something small and metal lands on the helicopter she and Steve are approaching. 

Tony hovers into view, landing in front of her and Steve, with a familiar clank, Rhodey at his side. 

"It's so weird, the people you see at the airport," Tony says to Rhodey. "Isn't it weird?" 

"So weird." 

"You have to listen to me, Tony. That doctor, the psychaiatrist, he's the one who's behind all this." 

Catsuit guy leaps easily over an aircraft, landing lightly in front of them. "Captain," he says. The King of Wakanda, who she ran over with a motorcycle.  

"Your Highness," Steve says, easily.  

"Anyway. Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago. You gonna help a brother out?" 

"You're after the wrong guy." 

"Your judgement is  _askew_ ," Tony grits out. "Your old war buddy  _killed_  innocent people." 

"It wasn't his fault, Tony. He was brainwashed, what part of that aren't you getting?" Kate finally jumps in. 

"And you believe that? Man, he's got you snowed, too? Just because you and Rogers are...whatever it is you are, doesn't mean you have to back everything he says."  

Kate tilts her head, not sure if Tony is being obtuse on purpose, if they're being observed, or if he's just that level of oblivious. "I back his plays if I believe he's right. Bucky is a victim here, Tony, and I don't get why you don't get that." 

"He blew up a building! He killed people!" 

"Stark," Steve says, in a tone of voice Kate knows immediately isn't going to help their cause. "There's a group of soldiers out there, like him but worse. Help us get to them, help us stop Zemo--" 

It's pointless. Stark and Rhodes aren't going to change their minds-- 

"Kate." A familiar voice, a familiar figure joins them. "You know this isn't going to end well. Do you really want to shoot your way out of this one?" 

Kate stares at Cassie.  

"Hawkeye," Steve's voice is low. "Stay focused." 

"All right. I've run out of patience. Underoos!" Tony yells. 

In a matter of seconds, someone in a red jumpsuit appears out of nowhere, yanking Steve's shield from his grip and binding his hands together.  

Kate has an arrow out and aimed at the newcomer just as fast. 

"Nice job, kid," Tony compliments him, and Kate thinks it's just a figure of speech until the guy in the suit speaks, and then she's not so sure. 

"Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit--it's nothing, Mr. Stark! It's-It's perfect. Thank you." 

Kate stares. 

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation," Tony tells him. 

"Okay," the kid turns to Steve. "Cap… Captain. Big fan. I'm Spider-Man. " 

Christ, it's like Scott all over again.  

"Yeah," Tony is becoming more uncomfortable by the second. "We'll talk about it later. Just--" 

"Hey, everyone," red suit guy waves, like this is a party, or a job fair.  

Tony sighs, exasperated. "Good job." 

Cassie is falling in closer to the kid-person-spiderling, even though he's up higher than the rest of them. Kate takes a few steps closer to them.  

"You've been busy," she says, throwing the words over her shoulder at Tony. 

"And you two have been complete idiots. Dragging in your team. _Rescuing_  Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place." 

"So that's what you think prison is?" Kate asks artlessly.  

"Prison," Tony snaps. "Internment. Is that what you guys think this is, really?" 

"Internment? I didn't say internment, I mean, I wanted to--" 

"Loverboy over there," Tony waves his hand at Steve. "When I asked him to sign, before Barnes went berserk." 

"You mean before someone used him as a weapon against his will?" Mad as she is, Kate can't help but feel a swell of satisfaction at Steve calling a spade a spade. Sometimes it's hard to remember that World War II was like...yesterday for Steve. Kate isn't great at it; Tony is even worse.  

Tony, who growls in frustration. "I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart!" 

Steve shakes his head. "You did that when you signed." 

"All right. We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. Now! Because it's us! Or it's a squad of JSOC guys, with no compunction about being impolite." 

"Impolite," Kate mutters. "What must that be like?" 

Spiderling laughs, apparently having heard her. 

 _"Uh, guys,"_ Sam's voice comes through over their earpieces. " _Look, I don't know if Stark is lying or if he was misinformed, but we've got inbound in about five_ _minutes, and based on what he's saying...it's Ross and his JSOC guys."_  

Kate turns to Steve, and he gives her a small nod. 

"All right," Steve says. "Lang?" 

Cassie turns to Steve, confusion all over her face, as Spiderwick starts to fidget. "Hey, guys, something--" 

Scott grows to his regular size, kicking the Spider in the face and liberating Steve's shield just as Steve holds his hands over his head and Kate shoots, breaking apart the mystery substance keeping him bound.  

Scott lands next to Steve, handing over his shield, "I believe this is yours, Captain America." He says it formally, like he's letting the pipsqueak he just took it from that there's only  _one_ bug-themed hero who gets to handle the shield. 

Everyone scatters.  

T'Challa takes off towards the building and she hears him say something to the effect of  _Barnes being his_  and Kate looses a putty arrow in his path, gumming him up for only a second before he breaks out of it. 

Meanwhile, Scott and Cassie are facing off, the  _one_ thing Kate was dreading about this. 

"Look, Cass, I really don't want to hurt you." 

Cassie snorts. "I wouldn't stress about it." She then proceeds to toss him into a truck.  

Great, yep, that's about how Kate expected that would go. 

She starts to climb, trying to get a good vantage point so she can provide everyone else with some cover-- 

"Hawkeye." 

"Noh."  

Noh is standing on the side of the structure she's trying to climb up, parallel to the ground. "There are a lot of bugs here today," she says conversationally, continuing her climb. 

"I thought so, too. Hawkeye," he looks at her disparagingly. "Are you really going to keep climbing? You know when you get to the top I'm going to put you right back down on the ground." 

"Oh. Right." Kate ponders this for a minute, looping her arms around a support strut, swinging her legs back and using her momentum to kick Noh clean off. It's probably mostly the element of surprise, but she'll take it. 

=*= 

Kata manages to provide adequate cover for Pietro and Teddy to get to the quinjet—or at least closer to it—before a blast from War Machine has her scrabbling for a grip on slick metal and sliding halfway back to the ground.  

Through the comms, she can hear someone go " _You have a metal arm? That's_ so cool!" Followed by a lot of Sam-and-Bucky bitching and sniping, which Kate misses because Tony's got Wanda cornered. 

"Wanda," he's saying. "I think you hurt Vision's feelings." 

Wanda shoots a glance over Tony's shoulder, locking eyes with Kate and giving her a small nod. Kate fires a shot over Tony's shoulder, two arrows that explode in relatively small pops in front of him, making him wheel about to face Kate. 

"Why couldn't you just stay at home, Katie?" Desperation creeps into his voice. "This didn't have to involve you--" 

"People I love are in danger. Of course it had to involve me. I can't stand by and let bad things happen to them." 

"Well, you're not doing very good," he points out. "You missed." 

"It's called misdirection," she informs him as the first car hits him. Wanda keeps going, using her magic to yank car after car after car out of the parking garage they were just in, flinging all of them at Tony.  

"You check on Scott!" Wanda yells. "I'll help Steve." 

Kate nods, and takes off to where Scott is fighting the spider guy. 

=*= 

Or, she  _would_ be going to where Scott is, if not for Cassie. Cassie's in a suit, but a better one than she was wearing the last time she met, and Kate doesn't have the knife that saved her ass the last time, she gave it to Bucky because he'd refused to take a gun. 

Cassie punches Kate in the sternum, but isn't fast enough to reclaim her hand before Kate has her wrist in a lock and is throwing her over her shoulder. Cassie lands hard on her back and swings her legs around, knocking Kate to the ground. 

"We're still friends, right?" Cassie looks over at Kate, panting. 

Kate is also attempting to catch her breath. "It depends on how hard you hit me." 

Cassie grins at her and, almost in tandem, both of them jump back to their feet. This time, Kate lands the first blow, a kick to Cassie's knee, then a punch that she dodges. Cassie lands a hit to Kate's ribs, and Kate is pretty sure there goes a rib-- 

A metal arm snakes around Cassie's waist, tossing her easily into the air to Sam, who drags her off towards Wanda. 

"You were pulling your punches," Bucky informs her, disapproval etched into the lines of his mouth. "C'mon." 

=*= 

Kate has just dodged a punch, delivered a kick to an abdomen, and gotten thrown into Scott for her trouble, when all the things about the Spiderguy finally add up to the conclusion that he is a kid, what the  _hell_. 

"TONY!" Kate bellows. "TONY  _GODDAMN_ STARK! DID YOU RECRUIT AN ACTUAL CHILD, A  _LITERAL_ MINOR, TO FIGHT FOR YOU?" 

Several hundred feet away from her, in midair, in mid fight, she can still see Tony freeze and turn towards her. 

"TONY STARK, YOU GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE THIS INSTANT! YOU _DICK_!"

Spiderkid taps her elbow. For someone who was literally throwing her around thirty seconds ago, he's very polite. "Uh, ma'am, really, it's okay, he gave me a better suit and everything, I really believe Steve Rogers is wrong and--" 

Kate's hand snaps up in the universal signal for  _shut up now_. "Do not  _ma'am_ me, infant. I was once a teenage superhero and what he's doing is exploitative and why, exactly, do you believe Steve Rogers is in the wrong? Explain to me your thinking on this one." 

"Mr—Mr. Stark told me Steve Rogers is wrong and that he thinks he's right, and that makes him dangerous." 

"Sure. Fair. But why?" 

"Why what?" 

Several fights rage around them, but the spider doesn't seem to notice. Is this his first battle? Sure, everybody has to start somewhere, but this? 

"Why is he wrong? What is he doing that you agree with Tony that he's wrong? I'm not trying to make fun of you or anything, I legitimately want to know." 

"Mr. Stark said that Steve Rogers doesn’t think I should be able to do what I do. Help people. I just—I gotta look out for the little guy, you know? I got powers, and if you can do the things I do, but you don't, then the bad stuff—it happens because of me. I let it happen." He thinks about it for a second. "I don't like bullies." 

Kate inhales entirely the wrong way. "Sorry, and you're on Tony's side in this? Tell me, Spider--?" 

"Man," the kid supplies, adorably perky about it. 

"Spiderman. Okay. Sure. Tell me this. You're in high school, you've got a lot of homework and stuff, you're clearly a vigilante on the side, that's a lot of responsibility, been there, done that, gotten the grades—uh, how up to date on international politics are you?" 

"I know some stuff about the EU? I'm in, like, American government now, so..." 

"So, no hard and fast feelings about the Accords?" 

"The what?" 

"Great. Are you his kid?"

"What?" His eye-area gets bigger, probably to convey his shock. 

"Tony's kid, like, his child, are you his child, is that why you're here, because he's your dad? That's understandable--"

"No! Tony Stark is not my dad! I think we'd know that!"

"I think you overestimate how much Tony remember about the early 2000s, but if you're sure. One more question. Did Tony bring you here to mess with me?" 

"Well, he actually said I'd probably bother the guy with the super amazing cape who obviously hasn't ever seen the Incredibles." 

"Oh, I love that movie!" 

"Yeah, it's great!" 

"Aw! We can totally be friends later. But right now, I'm going to have to kick your ass." 

"You can try." 

She nails him down with a putty arrow, and his response is to hit her back with—with actual  _spider webs_ , what the  _hell_. 

"How old are you, anyway?" 

"I'm fifteen?" 

Hawkeye looks at him. "You're _fif_ _teen_?" 

"Yeah!" 

Kate shoots him with a taser arrow. "Take this as a compliment, kid, I got my ass handed to me plenty of times when I was your age." She stops to think. "Well, a few times."

Next stop: find Tony. Yeah, there's a battle going on, but this is philosophical, and if she doesn't get it out of her system she'll never forgive herself. 

=*= 

"You recruited a  _kid_?" Kate shouts at Tony. He's hovering a few feet in the air, and she fires an arrow at him, sending him flying back a few feet. "Did you have to sign him out of homeroom? Jesus Christ, Tony!" Another shot. "He's a  _baby_!" 

"You were his age when you started your Hawkeye shit!" 

That earns him another shot. She isn't sure if she actually cares that her shots aren't having an impact. It's the principle of the thing. "Yeah, and that turned out so well, didn't it? My team fighting against themselves, us fighting against each other--" 

"Because we're right, Kate. You know the kind of destruction a group like this can do, you've been part of it, you've seen it. We  _do not_ have the right to go in wherever we please and do whatever we decide is the right thing!" 

"That is  _not_ the part I have a problem with!" She doesn't fire off her next shot. "Tony, you don't get--you don't get what that does to a kid, what people try to do to you-he's gonna--he's going to end up like--"

"Like you?" Tony's faceplate slides back. "Except for the fact that you're breaking international law right now, that's not a bad thing, Kate. We could use you. Think of all the kids like him that need an advocate. That could be you, Kate. You could help them."

"Help them  _what_?" Kate hates that she understands what Tony's saying, that part of her wants to do it. But not like this, not with the Accords. "Help them sign their lives and freedoms away?"

" _Look, I don't want to get involved with this conversation,_ " Scott says from places unknown. 

"What? What the hell is that?" Tony's faceplate slams back down and he cranes his head around looking behind him, trying to find the source of the voice. 

 _"But like, it seems to me that you two are having two different conversations so you'll never come to an agreement."_  

"Who the hell is this?" 

 _"It's me, your conscience,"_  Scott says, not missing a beat.  _"It's been a long time since we talked."_  

" _What does this do?"_ Scott mutters to himself. Oh, god. He's  _in_ Tony's suit. " _Yeah, you're gonna need to take this into the shop--"_

Kate lowers her arrow. 

"Kate. Come on. Let us bring you in, let us bring Barnes in--" 

"So he can get the chair? So that he can be accused of crimes he was brainwashed into doing? He didn't have a choice in this, Tony." 

"Yeah, well. Neither do I." And then he's flying off, and Scott is flying out, and Noh is in front of her again-- 

"I don't want to hurt you," he says. 

Kate laughs. "Yeah, there's a lot of that going around." 

She braces herself when all of the sudden, Noh is thrown back thirty feet.  

"Hey, Hawk, how's it going?" Billy jogs up beside her. 

"Not bad, Wiccan, you?" 

"Can't complain," he says, dragging her under some cover.  

"Everybody, sound off!" Kate raises her voice so that everyone can hear her over the sounds of their own fights.  

 _"We're in the_ _quinjet_ _, ready to go,"_  Teddy is the first to answer.  _"But I'm not flying out of here until somebody can assure me I'm not going to get shot down."_  

 _"Vision has Steve and I boxed in,"_  Wanda's voice is strained. _"And the Spider_ _-child. He and Steve are having a conversation."_  

"Of course they are," Kate mutters. "They're the same person. Bucky?"  

 _"I have a straight shot to the_ _quinjet_ _if Vision stays distracted. And someone gets Stinger out of the way,_ _"_ he adds as Cassie suddenly looms up, huge and blocking...well, _all_ of them from the quinjet. 

"Sam?" 

 _"No_ _easy way out for me. We got JSOC inbound, maybe three minutes._ _Remember, guys, this isn't the real fight. We're not all_ _gonna_ _make it, and for some of us to make it, we're going to need a big distraction._ _"_  

 _"I got something kind of big,"_  Scott informs them, _"but I can't hold it very long. On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half… don't come back for me."_  

Billy and Kate exchange alarmed looks. "Uh, Scott," Billy begins. 

 _"He's_ _gonna_ _tear himself in half?"_ Bucky asks in his the-future-is-terrifiyng voice. 

 _"You're sure about this, Scott?"_ Steve asks. 

"Scott, that requires a lot of practice," Kate starts, Billy nodding emphatically. "Like, it took Cassie years to really,  _really_ perfect it--" 

 _"I do it all the time. I mean once… in a lab. Then I passed out. It'll be fine!"_  

"Any eyes on Speed and Pietro?" 

"We're right here," Tommy says, leaning against a large wheel. "Thanks for noticing." 

She doesn't rise to the joke. "Pietro, I need you to get Wiccan to the quinjet. We don't want Ross to have Wanda or Wiccan but we definitely don't want him to have both of you." 

"Hey--" Billy starts to protest. 

"Wiccan, I need you on the quinjet because worse comes to worse you're going to need to BAMF some people on that plane." 

"Hawkeye, you know that's really hard on me, it takes a lot of energy—there's only so many times I can do it and it gets even harder if I'm doing it from something moving--" 

"I know. Maybe you won't have to, but I want you to be ready." She notices a small trickle of blood running down his face, and dread sinks into her stomach like lead. "How many trips do you think you have in you?" 

"Two, maybe?" 

"Okay." Kate nods, her mind already clicking through outcomes. "Pietro. Speed. Be careful. Neither of you are bulletproof." 

"What are you talking about?" Tommy stares at her. "I'm staying with you. You can't be trusted on your own." 

"Fair enough," Kate says, before Scott's voice rings out over the comms. 

 _"I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the boss. I'm the BOSS!"_ All at once, Scott  _looms_. He's huge, but he's not as practiced at it as Cassie, and he tumbles into Cassie, knocking her off balance, sending them both crashing into a staircar. There's something very surreal about seeing Scott and Cassie waling on each other with airplanes and buses, and Kate is pretty sure everyone is stopping to stare at the scene. 

 _"Way to go, Tic-Tac!"_ Sam shouts, and they all make a break for it. 

=*= 

Well, they try to make a break for it.  

Scott is still huge and Cassie is nowhere to be seen. Scott has flung War Machine and Noh to the side like they're toys. Scott and Cassie are back regular size, but Cassie disappeared after Steve and the King of Wakanda. Pietro and Billy are safely on the quinjet, but Wanda is fighting Vision, and Kate is facing down War Machine with Sam and Tommy and David. The muscles in her shoulders are twitching in exhaustion.  _Just a little longer._

 _"We need to go NOW,"_ Billy yells. " _We have Steve and Bucky and me and Teddy and Pietro, where are the rest of you?"_  

"Take off," Kate commands. They are too far away, too human and too tired to make it.

" _What? If I've got to keep Iron Man_ _and War Machine_ _off our backs I won't be able to grab any of you!_ _"_  

"I've got the fliers," Sam catches her eye. "You promised me, Hawkeye." 

"I know." 

"What's he talking about?" David asks as he takes off, War Machine after him.

Kate smiles at David. "Hey. It's going to be fine." 

"I don't think--" 

"Prodigy." She swallows past the lump in her throat. "Thank you so much. You are one of the finest people I know. And I'm sorry."

"Hey." David smiles at her, squeezes her shoulder. "I get it, Hawkeye. This isn't the fight. You'll come back for us."

"Yeah." Kate manages a smile. "Wiccan, now. Grab Prodigy and go!" Billy appears next to them with a faint fizz and Kate shoves him at David. "Go now!" 

David is protesting but Billy latches onto him and Billy is gone and it's just her and Noh in the middle of the tarmac.  

"That was the last trip, Hawkeye!" David yells through comms. "Damnit, Kate--" 

She can hear the argument happening on the quinjet.

Steve: "She meant  _her_! She meant she wasn't going to make it!" 

David: "What the hell? No, we have to go back, we have to--" 

Billy: "No, there's a  _plan_ , and we have to stick to it, we have to  _go_." 

Bucky: "To hell with this, this isn't worth it--" 

David again: "I don't give a single solitary damn about any of you! You don't understand! You don't understand what Kate  _knows--"_  

"Enough of that," Kate mutters, pulling the earbud out and crunching it under her toe. No sense in playing chicken with a satellite's ability to triangulate, after all. 

That done, she makes a beeline for Scott, to the Spider-Kid, to Noh, who got taken out in the fracas between them. She gets there and there's nobody to fight, all three of them sprawled out.

"Hey, kid," she says to the first one she reaches. "Spider-Man, you okay?"

"Yeah, uh. Yeah. I'm fine, I'm cool, let's go." He has his fists up, struggling to his knees, and Kate pushes him down. Gently. "You probably have a concussion," she informs him. "I'm not gonna hurt you, just stay down, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbles. "Okay, Archer...Lady."

"Hawkeye."

"Oh. Nice to meet you, Hawkeye."

"Nice to meet you, Spider-man." Kate walks a few more feet to collapse next to Scott, who's asking for orange slices. She has half a mind to flop down on the tarmac with them, just wait for JSOC to come pick them up and haul them away. 

Sam. She should figure out what happened to Sam. She tries to move, thinks really hard about it, but can't convince her legs that standing is the best idea now. Kate would be content to hang out with the bug boys, Noh bleeding from a head wound and Spiderman probably passed out and Scott messed up from his Going Big experiment when she realizes that incoming already came in. 

It can only be Ross' JSOC team approaching them, Ross leading them across the tarmac and-- 

And-- 

She has an arrow out, fitted to the string, before the thought is more than just the faintest glimmer of an idea. 

 _No, it wasn't supposed to be him, how is it him, why is it him--_  

She moves to stand between them and the bugs, standing over Spider-kid, between them and Scott, between them and Noh, reserves of energy she didn't know she still had propelling her up, forward,  _don't touch them don't you DARE touch them_ \--

"Not. A single step closer," she warns.

"You're in no position to be making demands, Hawkeye," Ross informs her. "Now stand down, or I'll make you." 

Her eyes flick away from him, landing on the man standing next to him, the one she's aiming at, her brain working through the pros and cons of shooting him as fast as it's able, one arrow to the eye is all she needs.

She looks back to Ross. "If you touch so much as a hair on Spider-man's head--"

"Spider-man signed the Accords. He knows what's best for his country and the world. I wouldn't hurt him."

It's a familiar line.

She doesn't believe it anymore. 

If he signed the Accords, is he safe, at least for now? Where's Tony? Tony brought him here, which isn't a great thing, but Kate trusts Tony more than she trusts Ross, she's not going to let Ross get his hands on this kid, not another kid and  _he's close this is your chance you have one shot and you just need the one just do it the kid will be fine just let it go--_

"I did warn you, Bishop," Ross says, pulling a trigger. Kate hears the sizzle before she feels it, before her knees give out, her feet tangled in Spider-man's arm. She hopes she's not kicking him or breaking his ribs. She can hear Scott swearing as Ross tases her, can see feet approaching her, someone squatting to peer in her face.  

"Hey, Kate," Jack Rollins pushes her hair out of her eyes. "Long time no see." 

=*= 

"Oh, okay," Kate nods at Ross, once she's gotten her breath back. She's been pulled to her knees, getting her hands bound behind her. She's so enraged it's as though she's transcended to a different plane of being, and she barely feels what's happening to her body, the ache in her shoulders and the tension in her muscles and the headache pressing behind her eyes all fading into the distance. "Okay, I see what you did. You took Nazis and you gave them asylum because you needed their knowledge. It's kind of like Operation Paperclip except that it's  _exactly_ like Operation Paperclip because you totally gave Hydra an in to your super top secret government agency. I can't  _imagine_ that will end poorly  _a second time_." 

Rollins doesn’t seem to get that she's lobbing insults  _at him specifically_ , or more likely he just doesn't care, because he smiles at her. "Katie. Did you miss me?" 

"Go to hell." Kate thinks better of her chosen insult. "You know what, I've been to hell and they actually have great lattes, so instead why don't you find the nearest void and chuck yourself into it." 

"Would you believe I missed her?" Jack says as an aside to Ross, and Kate fights back the urge to gag. "So, what do you say, Kate? Are you going to make this easy on us and you, and tell us what we want to know?" 

Kate doesn't know what he wants to know but that doesn't change her answer. "Let me see, days, maybe even weeks of a war of attrition between us, where you cause me bodily harm and I insult you like the world's most pointless game of chess? What am I, stupid? You're clearly in a position of power, and I'm not." 

"So...you'll tell us?" Ross looks uncertain. 

"I mean, not all at once, I need bargaining chips, but yeah, I'll tell you. I'll tell you something right now, if it means you don't tase me any more." She gives Ross a Look. "Not him, though. I hate him the teeniest bit more than I hate you, Jack, and that's saying something." 

"And what, you want me to come close so you can whisper it in my ear?" 

"Well, yeah, Jack. I want to make it as super fucking obnoxious for Ross as possible. But not too close, because I will attempt to bite your ear off." 

And he does, he fucking  _does,_ kneels in front of Kate, waving Ross' goons away, because the only thing more reliable than a Chevy pickup is Jack's fucking  _ego_. It's a hell of a blindspot to have, one that he should have worked out years ago but never managed to. He just really thinks he's that charming, or that intimidating, or that convincing. Maybe, to other people, he is.  

Kate tilts her head back, shooting Ross a glare, before driving her forehead into Jack's face. His nose makes a satisfying crunch as he scrambles back with a yelp. 

Kate laughs until they tase her again.  

Totally worth it. 

=*= 

"Are you going to keep tryin' to fight the power," one of the JSOC guys says as he escorts her to a van. "Or are you done?" 

"Done for now," Kate says.  

JSOC snorts. "Aight then. Don't headbutt me in the face, I won't be as nice about it." He shoves her towards a bench and starts messing with some chains, hooking her ankle cuffs into one. 

"Nice? You think he's going to be nice about that? Oh, JSOC. Dear, sweet JSOC. He's probably going to pull my fingernails out over that." 

JSOC looks up, done securing her in the windowless van. "He wouldn't do that. You're an American citizen." 

Kate snorts in response. JSOC looks past her to the where Ross is talking with the King of Wakanda.  

"There are so many furries here," Tommy says from where he is being chained down five feet from Kate. JSOC turns and stares. "Like, there's the cat dude, and  _ant_ man, and  _spider_ man and Falcon and Noh who's actually a bug--is Hawkeye your fursona?" 

"No." 

"You answered that really fast, so I'm going to have to say yes. Hey, JSOC guy, do you have a fursona?" 

JSOC turns to Tommy with a glare. 

"So, uh, where are we going?" 

"Classified." 

"And what's going to happen to us when we get there?" 

"Classified." 

"Can you tell me your name?" 

"Classified." 

"Can you tell me  _my_ name?" 

"Classified." 

"Lame." Tommy falls silent as JSOC climbs out of the vehicle. 

"Yeah, we're all set here," JSOC tells someone up front. "Now, you two look like you've got all kinds of stupid in you, so I'mma tell you, 'cause I'm nice like that, this whole van is rigged to shock you. You move too much, it'll shock you. You touch a door, it'll shock you. If you want to be toast by the time you get where you're going, then by all means, make a ruckus." 

He slams the door shut, plunging Kate and Tommy into darkness. 

"Well," Tommy says after a moment. "He seemed nice." 

"Sure." 

"So what do you think's going to happen to us?" 

"I don't know," Kate lies. "I don't know, Tommy." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look honestly I was rewatching CW and I was just really confused about what, exactly, Tony told Peter that convinced Peter that Steve was doing the wrong thing? Literally everything Peter says when Tony confronts him about being Spider-Man is grade-A skinny!steve attitude and it's not made clear that Peter has any feelings about if the Accords are right or wrong in the movie. We can all differ on our opinions about if in the movie Steve or Tony was right or wrong and to what degree but I feel like we can all find common ground in saying that the stunt Tony pulled with Peter was some military-grade bullshit that literally involved blackmail and probably involved other less than legal actions considering Peter specifically states he doesn't even have a passport
> 
> ALSO
> 
> I know that I've probably said this before, but I keep seeing the Discourse pop up on my tumblr dash, and I just want to reiterate the fact that a large portion of what I challenged myself to do with the politics of Civil War in this fic was to create two sides that are both sympathetic, not American Imperialism vs Not American Imperialism, and also, somewhat inadvertently, I'll admit, to show that Marvel had the capability to do this themselves and chose not to. It could very easily have been framed as Civil War: the needs of the many vs. the rights of the few or something similar, but the Russos decided to make it Steve v Tony: I do what I want vs have a signed permission slip  
> GRUMBLE GRUMBLE
> 
> (I think the fight makes sense? OH MY GOD there were so many people in this scene)


End file.
